Dark Room
by kkolmakov
Summary: Humourous amnesia fic. Wren, a healer from Dale, wakes up in a dark room with no memories of how she got there, while Thorin Oakenshield (who, of course, lived through BotFA) wants his wife back. All possible harlequin romance cliches, giggles, and guffaws included {Thorin x OC}
1. In a Pig's Eye!

**I'm in a frolicky mood, and here is what happened. There are three more chapters written (I wrote 6.5K words in one evening, can you imagine? :D), and they will be posted in time, letting you generously leave reviews, my lovelies ;)**

 **No previous knowledge of my OC is needed for this one, and it's all giggles and guffaws here :D**

 **Yours truly,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren opened her eyes. The room around her was unfamiliar - dark and warm. There was a heavy canopy over the bed she lay in. The velvet was of pleasant fern green colour, and the sheet under her were smooth and clean. Wren had never touched such luxurious fabric. The next thing that came to her attention was the faint smell of her favourite lilacs that seemed to emanate from her clothes and the sheets, and that, of course, made her question and consequently inspect her garment. There was an opulent night dress on her, of Gondor lace. The colour was of faint lilac, elegant and refined, and Wren lifted her arm expecting to see and admire a sleeve. There was none. The dress was of most indecent cut, while the details were tasteful. Only narrow straps of lace lay on her shoulders, and the collar was low. Wren sat up, pulled the collar, and looked down.

"She is awake, my lord!" Sudden loud voice made her whip her head to her right. A Dwarf stood in front of her, the face beaming with a joyous - and somewhat relieved - smile. An instant later Wren realised that the Dwarf was female. Wren had not encountered enough of the Stumped Ones to see that it was the woman right away, but now she noticed the bosom, the dress, and the unmistakable softness of facial features.

The door in the other side of the room flew open, and another Dwarf rushed in. He was male, and a head taller than the woman. Unlike the woman, he wore his hair unbraided, and for some inconceivable reason it was the silky, wavy mane of his locks that struck Wren as most surprising.

He hastily approached the bed, and Wren squeaked and pulled the soft sheets and blankets up to cover herself. He did not seem to notice.

His eyes were of the brightest blue, and he sat on the bed and leaned in to Wren, his gaze piercing and tense. She winced away from him, and then he cupped her face. Wren's body jolted. His palm was hot, as if scorching her skin, and she felt her cheeks flame up. No man had ever touched her so openly. He searched her eyes and asked something, in a deep throaty voice, in a language she did not know.

She blinked and finally found her voice.

"Pardon me, my lord, I do not understand..." Her voice was disobedient and broke mid-sentence, but nonetheless she was, clearly, heard. The Dwarves eyes widened, and the Dwarven woman in the room gasped loudly. Wren looked between the two people in the room trying to understand what was so astonishing to them.

"You..." the Dwarf spoke raspily, "You do not understand me?" His face was still uncomfortably close to Wren's, and she tried to discreetly move away from him on the bed. She was feeling fear rising. "Wren, have you forgotten the language?" Wren was intending to tell him that she had never known this tongue, when he frowned. His hand was still cupping her jaw, and Wren was painfully aware of this contact. And then he brushed his thumb to the corner of her lips. "Perhaps, it is the blow..." he spoke, seemingly addressing himself.

He then turned to the other woman in the room.

"Why are you still here, Til? Go fetch the healer." His voice was firm and authoritative, so different from when he was addressing Wren, and the woman curtsied and rushed out of the room, mumbling apologies.

"Are you in pain, my heart?" He once again turned to Wren, addressing her in a velvet tender voice and finally lowering his hand, and thus letting her take a breath in. Before, she was frozen, a flurry of emotions swirling in her mind.

"My head hurts." Wren decided that answering honestly to this seemingly innocent question might be prudent. She knew little about Dwarves, but the man exuded willpower and, frankly speaking, a fair amount of temper. Until Wren knew what he wanted from her, she decided to proceed with caution.

"It is to be expected. The healers said you would. And they also predicted possible laps in your memory. Do you remember how you fell?" he asked, his gaze still alarmingly focused on Wren.

"No, I am sorry… I… I do not." She felt irritated by her own mumbling.

"What is the last thing you remember?" the Dwarf asked. Wren searched her memory obediently, while trying to ignore the feeling of warmth coming from his body. Sadly, it showed itself impossible. She was still acutely aware that his thigh was pressed to hers, with only their clothes and the blankets separating them.

"I remember… Oh, I do remember falling!" she exclaimed, and he exhaled in obvious relief. "I was walking across the bridge, and there was that cart. There were pigs inside, in those small cages, and the driver yelled at me, I turned, and I fell… There was the support of the roof..."

"No, Wren! What are you saying?!" the Dwarf interrupted sharply. "What bridge? What… pigs?! You were in the Lower Passages, in the renovations area, and a box of tools slid off the scaffolding. They fell on you, and you lost consciousness!"

Wren opened her mouth and stayed that way, gawking at the Dwarf.

"One of the hammers struck your head," the Dwarf continued explaining, his voice tense, his face once again so close to hers that she was expecting their noses to touch at any moment. "Another hit your shoulder. Do you feel pain in the shoulder?"

Wren squinted her eyes to her left.

"The other shoulder," the Dwarf was now as much as growling. Wren looked, and indeed, ugly purple bruises was covering her whole shoulder and upper arm, glaringly obvious on her pale, freckled skin.

When she was fortunate to have an intimate meeting with the roof support on the bridge in Dale, it was her forehead that took all the damage onto itself. The shoulder had not been affected. Wren was starting to feel nauseous.

"Wren, do you know who I am?"

Wren felt almost relieved that he had started to suspect something on his own, without her being the first to enlighten him. Something told her he would not be be content with her answer.

She felt torn between breaking the news to him directly - she always felt it was the best way to deliver bad messages - and maybe apologising, since he was growing visibly more distraught with each passing moment.

Eventually she opted out and went for a simple shake of her throbbing head.

The result was of the sort she expected, but of proportion she was not prepared for. The Dwarf winced away from her, blood rushing from his cheeks, pupils dilating. His lips parted slightly, and his chest under dark blue doubled heaved. Wren wondered what it was that she managed to have forgotten that affected him so.

"Do you… do you remember... anything?" he choked out.

Despite the splitting headache, and the upsetting and utterly confusing situation she found herself in, Wren felt her usual sarcasm rise.

"I remember quite a lot, my lord." The Dwarf was clearly a person of stature, so Wren decided the moniker was fitting. "I would not be able to say what I have forgotten, but up until the last moment that I remember, I remember everything quite well. I have actually been quite proud of my memory, pardon my lack of modesty. It has always been quite easy for me to remember the medicinal properties of herbs, although other healers seemed to have trouble with it, and had to utilise their books. And honestly, my first memories are very early, as early as three Summers of age. It is just after that carriage veered, and then the pigs started squealing..."

"Enough with the pigs!" the Dwarf suddenly roared, making Wren cringe, as his outburst added a fair amount of pain into her already distressed skull. She quickly wondered whether Dwarves had a particular dislike of pigs or perhaps pork, but the Dwarf looked so distressed that she, firstly, immediately forgave him his inconsideration and, secondly, assumed the pigs were not the cause of his grief.

"Do you know where you are, Wren?" his voice was now trembling, and she could be wrong, but it seemed to Wren he was close to tears. It was especially alarming since he was not only male and of the race famous for their insensitivity and bruteness, but also he personally seemed of strong character.

"No, I do not," Wren answered softly. "Where am I?"

The Dwarf lifted his hand, covering his mouth with a tightly fisted hand.

"And who am I?" he asked, ignoring her question. Wren decided such impoliteness could be excused considering the circumstances.

"I do not know either, my lord," she answered, in a small voice, and then added, "I am sorry."

He was immobile now, watching her face, with glassy eyes, and Wren squirmed on the bed. Among other things, she was starting to require a visit to a bath chamber, and she was not sure how to ask. To think of it, she was not sure of anything. They sat in silence for a few minutes, after which, thankfully, a door opened and another three Dwarves came in.

One of them was the same woman, whom the Dwarf - presently pale and frozen on the same bed as Wren - had called Til. The other two were male, both older, white haired and white bearded. One of them looked strict, and had a bag in his hands. Something told Wren he was a healer. Another one came empty-handed. He had a rather amusing forked beard and kind dark eyes. Both of them bowed to Wren respectfully, and the one with the funny beard asked something in the same unfamiliar language.

"Do not bother, Balin," the Dwarf on Wren's bed muttered in a bleak voice. "She does not remember Khuzdul. She does not remember anything..." He slid off the bed and came up to the two male Dwarves.

Wren saw him lean to them and whisper, and alarm spilled into their features. The tall, dark haired Dwarf spoke; more and more worried glances were thrown to her; while Wren's full bladder was making itself known more and more.

She could not help it anymore, and she threw a desperate look over the room. Fortunately, she managed to catch the eyes of the one called Til, and the woman rushed to her. She was quite young, Wren concluded, after a closer look, but Wren certainly had no time to ponder the anatomy of Dwarves.

"Um… Til, is it?" she started, and the girl suddenly sobbed. Wren had a few seconds to spare before the situation grew completely hopeless. She decided to gift the girl with these precious moments, and soothingly patted the girl's upper arm. "There, there… It will be alright." She sounded rather unconvincing to her own ears, but it seemed to have positive effect on the girl's disposition. The one called Til sniffled and tried to smile through tears pooling in her eyes. "Til, I do not wish to distress you any more, but I am in quite a predicament. And I do not how to ask in any other way but just directly… Where are the nearest bath chambers?"

Two events followed as responses to Wren's careful inquirement: the girl suddenly wailed, large tears running down her cheeks, and then she pointed at a tall oaken door in the further wall. Wren had no time to decipher these mysterious happenstances; just as she - though with a sizeable mental effort - chose to ignore her state of undress. She jumped off the bed and rushed to the door the girl had directed her to. The last thing she saw was the dark expression of the dark haired Dwarf - and the jaw of the white haired one named Balin slowly descending to the floor.

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	2. Pig in a Poke

**A/N: See? Generous reviews equal a quick update! Voila! :)**

* * *

Once Wren's most pressing matter was resolved, and her hands were washed in a basin by the wall, she could take a deep breath in and gather her bearings, as much as the circumstances allowed.

Her first mental efforts - stifled by the horrid headache - brought the following results. Firstly, she had to conclude that she was in a Dwarven dwelling, since everything seemed of smaller size than an average Man would have in their house. The furniture fit Wren perfectly, which had never been the case before. She was disgustingly short - and appropriately skinny as well; altogether reminiscent of a sickly twelve year old in her proportions.

Secondly, Wren had to conclude that either herself - she was still industriously trying to keep her mind open - or some other woman of her size and hair colour lived here. There were garments in a large wardrobe in the bath chamber: bath robes, bathing sheets, undergarments of all possible sorts, and clearly her size. There were soaps and balms, many of them of her favourite lilacs fragrance, and there were brushes. One of them had a few copper curly hairs on it, and Wren pulled at her locks to compare. And that was when she noticed the grey streaks hidden in her mane of orange springs.

She rushed to the wardrobe and jerked its door open again. There was a tall mirror on its door. Wren had ignored it during the first inspection, since she had no habit to look into mirrors at the first place. There was not much to see there, to be honest.

The woman looking at her from the mirror was at least a dozen years older than the woman who was assaulted by the bridge roof support in Dale. That was if Wren aged poorly, which would be unlikely, since she always looked much younger than she was.

Her hair was longer, it went down to her waist. It was well taken care of, smooth and oiled, a few braids decorating her usually unruly, haystack like mane. There were beads at the ends of them. And most strikingly - she pressed her hand to her forehead in shock - Wren had curves. Given, she was still a stick with disproportionately long lower limbs, but now she could actually see hips, and - and she had had the suspicion the first time she looked down her collar a few minutes ago - there was bosom. Small and unimpressive - but the peaks were now noticeable under the sheer fabric of her indecent night dress.

"My lady, are you alright?" the nasal voice of the one called Til - probably from more of her uncontrollable crying - came from behind the closed door. Wren decided to skip her first instinctual reaction - meaning, her dire desire to announce that she had found breasts under her dress.

"Yes, I am." She pulled out a robe from the wardrobe - it was time to admit it was most likely hers - and walked to the door.

* * *

The men still stood in a small tight group, and Wren stopped without climbing back to bed. She was saved from this awkward hovering by the Dwarf with the healer's bag. He pointed at a luxurious armchair near the fireplace in the wall opposite to the bed, and then he bowed to Wren.

"My Queen, please take a seat." His even, professional tone did not help to fully annul the effect of someone addressing Wren as a Queen. The question of her being of Men and being a Queen of Dwarves was too mind boggling at the moment for Wren's sadly scrambled grey matter.

Sitting down seemed like a wonderful idea to Wren, whose head was spinning, and most likely not from a blow inflicted by a hammer.

She sat, and the healer started on his work. Wren had to concede she would have made all the same tests, so she obediently opened her mouth, let him check her eyes, watched him examine her shoulder and arm, and then allowed him to gently hit her knee with a little wooden hammer - she had to bunch up her skirts and blush furiously - and then watched together with him how her leg jumped and almost hit him in the crotch. The Dwarf deftly jumped away, Wren had to concede that clearly her nerves were healthy.

"I have to conclude that Your Majesty is healthy, except for the obvious bruises on the shoulder," the Dwarf announced stately, and the tall Dwarf scoffed. Wren did her calculations and assumed that since she was apparently the Queen, he would probably be a King, since he openly touched her and sat on her bed in front of others. Again, Wren had to put this interracial puzzle into a far away corner of her mind, but she had less and less doubts with each passing minute. Among other things, she had just seen an undertunic - just like the one sticking from under the collar of his shirt presently - thrown mindlessly on a footstool in what seemed to be her bath chamber. Unless they just shared the room - which Wren somehow doubted.

"Her Majesty thinks she was run over by a cart with pigs," the presumable King snarled. Wren once again decided to forgive his rudeness, making a concession due to his upset state, but she had to say her patience was running thin. "And she does not remember her husband. Nor her Kingdom. Nor, most likely, her children..."

That made Wren sharply turn her head to him. The room swayed in front of her eyes and gained a gentle green tinge, but Wren clenched her teeth, willing her mind to clear.

"Children?! I have children?!" she raised her voice, and saw a pained grimace twist the King's lips.

"Four of them. Three boys and a girl." His words sounded almost punishing, and Wren gasped.

"Names..." she rasped out, and then pleaded in some desperate hope. "Give me their names!"

"Thror, Unna, Dain, and Othin." A similar idea apparently came to the King's mind, and he stepped to her. "These are their names! Do you remember them? Thror, Unna, Dain, and Othin!"

The names did not stir anything in Wren, and she heavily fell back into the chair she was rising from. The King and others seemed to have guessed her reaction, and a sigh carried through the room. The King turned away from her and walked to a large window. A curtain was drawn, and he just stood in front of it, his arms crossed on his chest.

"Your Majesty just needs rest," the healer spoke. "Your memory seems to be the only thing affected." As if it were not enough, Wren wanted to sneer back, but kept quiet, still in a state of shock of suddenly finding herself a mother of four and not remembering it.

"I remember… another blow to the head. And I remember it well. I do not think it is an illusion. So I would assume, it is possible that a repeated injury set off the old memory loss, and everything between the two was lost..." Wren tried to keep the judgement out of her tone, out of professional respect, but she was almost certain that was what had happened.

The healer nodded, packing his tools back into the bag.

"Your Majesty seem to have preserved the professional skills and knowledge. I have nothing to do here."

"You are here to bring my wife back!" The King had apparently gifted them with his returned presence and was now glaring at the healer.

Two thoughts rushed through Wren's mind. Firstly, that the man needed to learn to control his temper. King or not, he was showing himself excessively cantankerous, arrogant, and demanding. And he needed to stop roaring! She rubbed her throbbing temples. Secondly, everything, of course, had been pointing at it, but the fact of being married to anyone, more so to a Dwarf, when said outright had a similar effect on Wren as being run over by a cart with pigs once again!

"Your wife is here, my lord," the healer answered, completely unruffled by the roaring, and closed his bag with a click of the lock. "I do not see any changes in the personality. I have had the honour and the pleasure of consulting Her Majesty on several occasions and working together in the infirmary, and I have to say that all I see is just a younger version of the same woman." He then gave her a cordial smile, and with a bow he said his goodbyes, promising to come visit her the next day.

The one called Balin came up to her and looked down at her with his thoughtful dark eyes.

"My lady, I regret what has happened to you, and I will pray to Mahal for your quick recovery."

Wren did not know what or who Mahal was, but she sincerely hoped the Mahal knew what it was doing. She was in dire need of all possible help. Wren thanked the white haired Dwarf, and both older men left.

* * *

The maid - Til was indeed a maid, this much was clear now - shifted between her feet uncomfortably and then asked whether her services were needed. The King was once again demonstrating Wren how wide and majestic looking his back was. Wren decided to deal with it later.

"I would like some food, please," Wren asked, and the maid's lips once again trembled.

Wren felt irritation rising, which was quite common for her when she was hungry. If such was going to be the girl's reaction to every time Wren behaved un-queenly, they were off to a bad start. Wren had no experience of even seeing a queen from afar, say nothing of knowing enough to be to feign appropriate behaviour.

The maid sniffled and left the room. Wren decided that she would just go to bed. Surely, queens ate in bed when they were sick, she told herself. She got up, wobbly on her feet, and stretched her hand carefully to the bedpost to move across the room.

A pair of large hot hands picked her up. Once again, the King was too close to her to her comfort.

"I can walk myself..." she weakly protested, and he grumbled something about 'stubborn woman,' and 'weak as a kitten,' and the aforementioned 'Mahal,' and firmly led her to bed. Wren decided if she did not fight it, it would end faster, and she would be freed from these scorching shuckles.

She climbed under blankets and sheets, and he went back to his window and his brooding.

Wren would prefer to be left alone, maybe to think a bit, but there were questions to be asked that could not wait.

"My children..." she called to the man, or to be precise, to the brooding back, and he slowly turned. His face was cold, the expression unreadable. Wren was losing the remnants of sympathy for the grump. She spoke, her voice gaining confidence, "My children, are they here? In this… dwelling?"

"Our children are here," the Dwarf intoned purposefully. "They are in their rooms. They know you are ill, but we did not tell them how grave it was. We did not know whether you would awake." He was studying her, a crinkle between his brows.

That had cleared out two of Wren's points of interest - and added more to her discomfort. She had never actually given it a thought, but she had to accept it now that not only Men and Dwarves were compatible in carnal matters, but were apparently also able to procreate. That was if the Dwarf did not mean the children were his purely by law. Wren was not sure she was ready to find out.

There were several more questions to be asked before Wren could close her eyes and try to have the rest the Dwarven healer had mentioned and she would prescribe to anyone in such situation herself. That was if she were a healer, not a Queen. Wren's head reacted to the thought with another excruciating pang of pain in her temples.

"Have I ever mentioned to be run over by a cart with pigs?" Wren asked, and saw the Dwarf's face grow exasperated. She was not sure whether he was swallowing the curses that were trying to erupt out of him, or mentally swearing off ever eating pork.

"You have. Twice by now." The tone of his answer was murderous.

"No, I mean, have I ever mentioned it during the time period that you have known me and I have forgotten?" Blabbering and asking convoluted questions were, sadly, Wren's most prominent habits. She regretted, of course, but on the other hand he had married her! He should know!

Wren got momentarily distracted from her investigation by the thought that anyone at all actually married her! It was inconceivable! And more so, a King! Given a Dwarf, but still… a King! Wren discreetly threw a look at him. Given he was a Dwarf, he was… mildly attractive. Wren had no time to ponder it further, as he stepped a bit closer to the bed. Wren pulled at blankets again. Her newly discovered bosom was on obvious display in the cursed cobweb dress of hers.

"You had never mentioned it before earlier," he answered slowly. "Which I now find bizarre, because we seemed to have discussed almost everything from each other's past. I do not see why you would skip it..."

"Because I did not remember," Wren shared her assumption. "I clearly lost some memory then, but it was not much time lost for me to remember. Maybe I thought I was sick… How long was I unconscious this time?"

"Thirteen hours and twelve minutes."

That was oddly specific. Wren looked at his more attentively, and his mask seemed to waver under her studying look. Some emotions splashed in his eyes, and his lips softly opened, and then a knock came to the door.

Til brought a tray and placed it over Wren's lap. She curtsied and escaped again, only to sob loudly behind the closed door, causing Wren who had already sunk her teeth into a deliciously aromatic and soft slice of cold meat to freeze and throw a frustrated look at the door.

"Nonsensical creature," the Dwarf mumbled and went back to his window gazing, also known as curtain staring, or more precisely, just brooding.

Wren helped herself to the meat, pickled vegetables, and freshly baked bread, and a large cup of tea, and felt much better. She had been so hungry that eating in front of a stranger - a man, a Dwarf, a King, and apparently her husband - was a piece of cake. There was cake as well, her favourite seedcake in actuality, the kind with raisins, black currants, and nuts. She had only tried it twice in her life, in Dale, right after she moved into the freshly renovated town.

Now, with her stomach having stopped to growl, and her headache somewhat dulled, Wren decided she could afford a bit more investigation before she crashed into slumber.

She cleared her throat. The Dwarf did not turn, but somehow Wren knew he heard her.

"Where… am I?" she asked, and saw his shoulders jolt.

"Erebor."

"Erebor?! That big mountain at the background?" Wren asked in disbelief. That gained her the most shocking sound she thought she had heard in her life. The Dwarf laughed. The sound was low, and boomed and rumbled in his chest. It was not quite an open merry laugh - given the circumstances, Wren did not judge him - but nonetheless it was as if it were a different person. Bright eyes, smiling lips - the face was warm, and the man was... marginally almost charming.

He came up and sat down at the same spot on the bed. But Wren knew better now, and had moved her legs closer to the middle of the bed.

"You are in that Mountain at the background. You are its Queen. You are the Queen Under the Mountain. You are Queen Wren Zundushinh. You are my wife." His voice dropped even lower, tone was reverent and hypnotising, and Wren had to concede: he was not ugly.

"Um… and you are?" she asked, and he froze. Wren might have been wrong, but had he been leaning to her lips?!

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	3. Golden Age

**Oopsie daisie, now there are three more chapters, and counting. Yeah... It doesn't look like a mini-fic anymore, but I assure you it's all light and giggly, so I hope you enjoy! ;)**

 **Love you all,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

"I am the King Under the Mountain..." he started, and Wren raised her index finger making him freeze with his mouth half open.

Let us be honest here, Wren had had a long day. She had bumped her head, lost her memories of dozen or more years of marriage, of her husband, of her four children, of being a Queen; her head hurt, and she just ate twice as much food as she had ever remembered to be able to afford; Wren was tired and sleepy. She had not time for his prattle.

"The name, please," she asked in a pleading tone. "I just need the name."

"Thorin," he answered simply, and she nodded with gratitude.

"And is that how I normally address you? That seems rather informal." Wren was not sure but in the married couples she had seen in her life - or remembered at least - some amount of decorum was preserved even in the intimacy of their homes. Wren could not vouch for the intimacy of their bedrooms, though.

"We are in a rather informal association," the Dwarf answered, and Wren watched as if under a spell, how his left eyebrow started crawling up under a whimsical angle. Wren gulped - loudly.

"So, just Thorin then?" she asked in a choked voice.

"You use other monikers as well sometimes… Depending on circumstances..." The baritone was turning into a low purr, and Wren's index finger flew up again.

"Perhaps, we could postpone this discussion… Thorin."

"I have forgotten this habit of yours. To shoosh me with this little finger of yours. You have given it up about ten years ago." He chuckled again; Wren squirmed some more.

"How long have we been… in the association?" Wren decided not to presume any sort of labels for her current position.

"We are married in the eyes of the Dwarves and Men equally, Wren. And it has been twenty years."

"What?!" A loud squeak burst out of Wren. "I am forty three years old?!"

"Forty four. We took two years to arrive at the decision to marry. Is that all that worries you now, my Queen?" the Dwarf asked sardonically. "You have been married to a Dwarf and a King for twenty years, and forgot it - and all that you ask about is your age. I have never noticed any vanity in you before now."

"It is not vanity!" she hollered, grabbed handfuls of her curls, and pulled. "I just realised how much I could have achieved in those years!"

"And you have. And still will," he said softly, and Wren quieted and looked at him. She did not even jerk when he picked up her hand. His thumb stroked her knuckles, and it felt amazingly pleasant. "You are a woman young in spirit and body. You are full of life and strength. You are a loving mother and an excellent leader for my people. And there are only more years of the same to come..."

Wren had to admit: she was starting to suspect how this marriage had come to be. He was far from ugly, and knew all the right words to say, while apparently wanting to charm her. The last part was still mysterious as of why, but the man surely knew what strings to pull.

Meanwhile, his eyes darkened, and as inexperienced as Wren was - or felt, to be precise - she rapidly grew tingly head to toe. And then she remembered they were alone in a dark locked room, and in his eyes she was his wife. Wren jerked her hand out of his warm fingers.

"I need repose… Thorin." Even pronouncing his name was making her agitated.

"Of course, my heart," he answered softly, but the fire in his eyes was not gone completely. Wren gulped again. "You normally sleep on the other side, though."

"What?! No! I am not spending a night in the same bed as you!" Wren shouted, and the Dwarf cocked his head, as if not understanding what flustered her. She was well aware he was only pretending. At no point since she had met him this evening, had he shown himself to be dim. "Please..." She decided to switch tactics. "Please, today was… too much…" Wren aimed for a pleading tone. "I need some privacy… And please, place yourself into my position. Everything is so confusing..."

The Dwarf sighed and nodded. And then, moving terrifying swiftly, he pulled her into tight embrace, but still mindful of her injured shoulder.

"Mahal help me, I thought I had lost you," he muttered, and Wren opened her mouth to allow more air to access her lungs.

The air brought the spicy grassy smell of the Dwarf's skin, more of the aroma of Wren's favourite lilacs, apparently stuck to his hair and clothes, and some sweet and pleasant pipeweed smoke. Wren hastily held her breath.

He then moved away slightly, just placing a few inches between their faces, and Wren blinked frantically. Interestingly enough, she seemed to have stopped noticing the headache. A ridiculous thought that she had not been kissed for six years - plus twenty that she had forgotten - crawled into Wren's overtired mind.

That looked as if it were to be rectified quickly. The hot palms cupped her face, and the Dwarf's thick black lashes fluttered. Men were not supposed to have such fan like, feathery lashes - the panicked thought galloped through Wren's mind. He leaned in, Wren stiffed.

And then he stopped, and his eyes slowly opened.

"I cannot… Not like this… You are in no state to agree..." he whispered, and Wren decided on two things.

Firstly, that was lovely of him. Clearly, he was a decent man and a considerate husband, and their marriage seemed of the best possible nature. Four children, and a man still asking for consent after twenty years of being wed? That was what Wren had considered the perfect relationship. Secondly, she decided he did have her consent.

"Maybe, just one..." she whispered, feeling her cheekbones starting to burn in embarrassed blush. She had never been that forward with a man! At least, she could not recall such happenstance.

He met her eyes, and studied them. Wren swallowed a knot in her throat. He was her husband! She had every right, and maybe - just because she was so overtaxed and bedraggled - she found him somewhat attractive, even for a Dwarf. Fortunately, the man had apparently been paying attention through the aforementioned twenty years, and had learnt the tells.

This time Wren closed her eyes first. The last thought before his lips touched hers was that if she needed an excuse, she would pretend she was hoping it would make some memories resurface. Which would be a blatant lie, since the honest answer would be that Wren was finding the man whom - as she found out an hour ago - she had been married to for the last twenty years, increasingly less ugly with each passing second.

His lips were soft and gentle, and the kiss was both considerate and passionate. He first tenderly pressed his closed mouth to hers, and Wren could not fathom how it happened that she was the first to move. She shifted, wanting to feel the curve of the lips, and even perhaps to find out what the black whiskers of his beard felt at the corner of the mouth. And then his bottom lip slid lower, brushed at hers, and his fresh warm breath caressed her lips, and she followed his example, and parted them. She felt worried for an instant, she hardly knew how to kiss a man! And then his hand slid higher, on her jaw under her ear, and he angled her face, kissing her more greedily now, moving and caressing, and then he caught her bottom lip between his lips.

For a moment Wren thought there was someone else in the room, because she heard a moan. It was low, raspy, and what she assumed was called lustful. And then the Dwarf pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, and the moan repeated. This time Wren had no doubt it was born in her. When she felt his warm slick tongue gently circle the inside of her upper lip was when Wren pushed the rest of her inhibitions aside, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He moved away again, this time leaving her panting and dazed, and he softly brushed his hand to her cheek.

"We need to let you rest, my heart," he whispered, his eyes dark and clouded in front of her.

"But was it good?" she blurted out, and immediately flushed, terrified of her own blunder. He laughed softly.

"I forgot what you were like then..." He smiled to her, and leaned in, and Wren was hoping for another kiss, but he just softly pressed his lips to her cheek.

"You are always good," he whispered into her ear. The ear burnt right away. "I have never kissed anyone better."

That was a dubious compliment - what exactly was his basis for comparison? - but Wren decided that considering the extraordinary circumstances she would allow herself the pleasure of accepting it.

He rose, slowly sliding his arms from around her, with a sigh, as if saying goodbye, and Wren could not dare to lift her eyes.

"Rest, _yâsithuh._ I shall see you in the morning." Somehow the strange Dwarven language did not sound that rough and scratchy to Wren's ear any more. "I will send Til to stay in your room. And another maid will come at midnight. We need someone to watch you over when you sleep. The healer said the first night is the most dangerous."

Wren nodded agreeing. She had seen many head injuries. Everything seemed right.

He gave her last, wistful look over - Wren slid lower under the sheets - and left the room. Til came and took her seat in the chair. Wren had a lot to think, and she doubted she even could sleep under the watchful, almost unblinking stare of the maid, and then she fell into the deepest possible slumber.

* * *

In the morning - at least, Wren assumed it was morning, there was bleak light coming through the window with now open curtains - she sat up on the bed, feeling no less confused than the day before.

"Wren," the King called to her softly and came up to the bed. He was dressed in a fresh white tunic, no doublet, no undertunic - which made Wren uncomfortable in a strangely pleasant way and painfully aware of what had transpired the night before - and some sort of soft linen trousers. He smiled to her, his eyes roaming her face inquisitively. "Morning. How are you faring?"

"If you mean, whether I remember you, you are Thorin, my… husband. But no, memories have not returned. I only have yesterday."

He looked down at her warmly.

"And your habit to blurt out everything that comes to your mind is back. In the recent years you only allow it to show with me. You have grown into a cunning politician."

He once again sat on the bed, chuckling. And Wren once again felt the need to use the bath chambers. She stretched her hand to the robe on the bed, but then she remembered that she would have to uncover to get dressed. She wondered whether he would turn away if she asked.

She chewed at her bottom lip, and he smirked.

"Are you flustered at the prospect of me seeing you in your lingerie?" he asked, and then leaned closer. Wren sucked a breath in. "I have seen all of it before." Wren felt her nose twitch.

With a soft chuckle the Dwarf theatrically covered his eyes with his hand.

"You can flee. I promise not to peek."

Wren did not know if she trusted him to keep his word - or whether she wanted him to. Nonetheless, she grabbed the robe, quickly wrapped in it, and minced to the bath chamber, firmly reminding herself that - all unbelievable circumstances aside - she had known the man for just a few hours, and her feelings for him were both preposterously undeveloped, and not to be trusted.

* * *

She came back to the bed chamber and found a breakfast tray on her bed, and a snacking Dwarf to boot. Wren once again creeped under the blanket, keeping a healthy - and definitely beneficial for her sanity - distance from him, and snatched a slice of a seedcake from the tray. The King once again chuckled and handed her a cup of tea. Wren would like to say she had not noticed his fingers brush at hers over the saucer, but Wren was never a good liar.

"So, my heart, we should discuss our predicament," the Dwarf drew out, and Wren reminded herself that, surely, not everything he was saying was an innuendo.

And then she asked herself, at what point had her thoughts even turned in that direction. It had been just yesterday that she had not known Men and Dwarves could be anything more than potential war allies, and had been terrified of and mildly apprehensive towards this particular Stumped One.

"I would like to see my children," Wren said firmly. "I understand it could be difficult for them to understand, but children are resilient." A doubt crawled into her mind. Who knew what a half Dwarf, half Man child was like. Wren threw the thoughts aside. It mattered not what they were like. They were hers, and she loved them even without knowing them.

"I think it will not be too much of a trouble," the Dwarf answered lightly, sipping his coffee. "You are not too different. You are always cordial and friendly with them. You have no memory, but you are still you."

"So, I need to see them. We will explain to them that I might seem confused, but I am still their mother." Wren made sure she sounded as if she were affirming, and not pleading. She had a strange feeling that it was the right way to proceed. Somehow the man innocently chewing a slice of cheese on her bed was radiating the vibe of a person who would take an ell when given an inch.

"After breakfast, perhaps?" he offered, and she enthusiastically nodded. He poured himself more coffee and sipped. Wren did not pay any attention to how his lips wrapped around the rim of the cup. Why would she? She only had met him the day before! "The healer said the memory may return," he slowly pronounced, and Wren hummed agreeing.

"Something might trigger it," she said. "Brain is just as any muscle. It heals. Wounds mend. One day I might wake up, and be the old me."

"Is there something we can try to encourage it?" he asked, and looked at her over his cup. Wren suddenly felt like a slice of some very appetising cake. The sensation was very disconcerting.

"Going back to my normal routine should help," she choked out, and quickly stuffed her mouth with more seedcake.

"Oh, excellent," the Dwarf murmured. "So, eating in the same room? Going back to your service in the infirmary? Spending afternoons with your children?" Wren was enthusiastically nodding with each proposition. "Sleeping in the same bed?" Wren froze mid-nod. "With the same people?"

"Were there more than one?" Wren blurted out a sarcastic remark of her habitual sort, and immediately bit her tongue.

The Dwarf guffawed.

"No, I do not think so. I do not recall noticing anyone third here. Not counting those four times, when someone was occupying the spot with you." He pointed at her stomach with his eyes, and Wren decided that drinking tea was safer than talking to the unsettling Dwarf.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	4. Child's Play

Thankfully, after the breakfast, the rest of which passed in quiet chewing and Wren trying not to meet his eyes, the Dwarf left Wren to her own devices. Til came right after it. It was fortunate. Firstly, Wren should still be kept an eye on, in case of some falling fits. Secondly, she apparently needed a bit of help with her dresses. They were opulent, velvet, and required the same amount of assembly as a carriage.

Wren took a bath, and spent the next half an hour standing still, and occasionally lifting her arms, while Til rushed around. A gauzy undertunic was followed by a snow white blouse, smooth and cool to touch, and then a petticoat, and then a velvet dress. Another half an hour went into braiding and arranging her hair, and Wren endured that as well, starting to think that the whole Queen business was growing less and less attractive with each second.

She was finally invited to get up and look herself over in the mirror. She could not argue, she looked good. The dress was well cut and elegant, and the dark green velvet and white silk complimented her complexion and fiery hair. The hairdo was tasteful and made her look very regal. Altogether, Wren enjoyed the view, but would prefer her simple dress from Dale - apparently, of twenty year old fashion - to this attire. But she had to accept that being a Queen she would have to bear this burden.

"You look so beautiful, My Queen," Til drew out in a mawkish breathy tone. "You never let me dress you in these attires and braid your hair properly. You should go out this way all the time!"

Wren slowly turned and gave the girl a murderous glare.

Half an hour later, out of the ridiculous layers, and dressed in a much simpler, one piece dress - of which Wren found a small but well stocked wardrobe - and her hair braided in two thick plaits on her back, Wren ventured onto the search of four little mutants that she had apparently born.

* * *

The children were adorable. Wren felt unreasonable pride. It was not as if she had done anything specific to achieve these result, but three boys - two dark haired, and one with her fiery locks - and a girl who looked like a charming delicate copy of her Father, were something the Wren of now could only congratulate the old Wren on. Or was it the other way around, and technically she was the old Wren?

Setting the complicated question of memory loss and the past invading the present aside, Wren approached the children who stood in a row in the middle of what Til called the Heir Hall. It was a large parlour, with several doors, probably leading to their bedrooms.

The oldest was the perfect replica of the King: proud posture, noble profile, bright blue eyes. By the standard of Men he looked about thirteen, but the estimation was very imprecise, since the children looked utterly Dwarven to Wren. The girl was slightly younger. The last two were tots of five or six - again by the measure of Men - and looked like twins. One was yet another miniature King - Wren pushed the saying 'a child made in passion is the father's mirror' twirling in her thoughts to the back of her mind - while the second one was clearly Wren's son.

The King had apparently explained to the children what had happened to their Mother, and when she entered, Wren was greeted with four pairs of hopeful, but cautious eyes.

She also was not sure how to behave, so she froze in front of them. And then the dark haired one out of the smallest ones with a loud wail "Amad!" rushed to her, and slamming the small sturdy body into her, he wrapped his arms around her legs.

Wren plopped on the floor, and they hugged. The child felt like a little bear cub, all solid, hot, and his curls of the colour of strong coffee were thick and smelled of milk. Wren could see the other children exchange uncertain looks, and the oldest one threw a questioning glance at his Father standing in the corner.

The red haired boy followed his brother's example in a moment, the girl only hesitated a second more. Soon Wren was hugging all three of them, while the oldest still stood on his spot, his jaw set, and frowning.

"Thror..." Wren called, her voice trembling. "Are you not coming to me?" Wren did not know how Dwarves treated their children, but she doubted the old her could have been anything but generous in her displays of affection.

"I do not wish to overwhelm you, Mother. Father said you were ill," the boy answered decorously, but Wren could see he doubted.

"She is fine," the red haired boy - Dain - mumbled, nuzzling Wren's neck. "She is a bit ouchy in her head, but she still loves us."

Wren looked down at him in shock. She then looked at the King, who stood to the side, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes following the children attentively. He gave her a small nod, as if promising to explain later.

"Of course, I love you… Dain. All of you," Wren promised. "I did hit my head, and..."

"Did your brain come out?" the smallest - Othin - asked, and looked at her with suspicion. "Is that why you do not remember us?"

"Othin!" the King exclaimed, but Wren just laughed.

"No, my brain did not come out. But it was shaken quite well, so I am a bit confused. Are you a boy, or a little bear?" she asked, and kissed the boy's nose.

"I am Othin!" he shouted, and Wren laughed louder.

"Of course, you are."

"And I am Unna," the girl whispered. "Do you remember anything at all?" She was the one squeezing Wren the hardest.

"I do not, my heart, I am sorry." Wren answered. "But I do know that you are mine. And I do love you." She then looked up and beckoned the oldest boy to her. "Come, Thror, let me look at you."

To be honest, Wren was improvising. She had no memory of any experience with children, besides delivering a few babies. She did not know how to talk to them, and whether her behaviour would strike them as odd. She did not want to frighten them either, by seeming very much unlike their real mother, but so far it seemed to go well.

The oldest boy came up to her, and she picked up his hand - just as wide and scorching, as his Father's - while the smaller ones were wrestling and settling on her skirt scattered on the floor. To add to Wren's unease, her firstborn looked so much like the King that Wren felt additional discomfort under his direct domineering gaze.

Wren decided that if he were indeed her son, she must have brought him up properly.

"Am I that different, Thror?" she asked, letting him study her face.

"You are not, amad. I am just concerned… for your health."

"Does your head hurt?" Othin asked and smacked the top of her head couple times with his little square palm.

"Othin, stop," Unna hissed at her brother. "If it does, you are making it worse."

"It hurts, but it is better." Wren assured the children, and then she quickly leaned in, kissed Unna's cheek, and then blew into Othin's curly crown of hair. "But do not shake my head, Othin, or I will get confused and will start thinking you are a terrifying Dwarven warrior."

"I am!" Othin gleefully agreed, and then emitted some sort of a battle cry so loudly that other children winced away from him.

"You are not, pumpkin head," Dain dismissed haughtily.

"You are a pumpkin head!" Othin hollered. "Orange, orange pumpkin!"

"I have amad's hair, and you are just jealous!" Dain started shouting in return.

Unna demanded them to stop; they started screaming louder; all three of them were bobbing and squirming; and Wren suddenly started laughing loudly. Half Dwarves or not, these three seemed like perfect children to her, and apparently she had brought them up the way she always thought was the right one. Meaning, they were allowed to be loud, and trusted her completely. The fact that after a few minutes of hesitation, Thror plopped on the floor as well, and pressed into her side, was the last proof for Wren that everything was going well, and she had nothing to worry about.

The King chuckled at the background. Wren lifted her eyes at him, and saw him smiling widely. That was the first time since she opened her eyes that she noticed the striking contrast between the black beard and the white teeth, and then she noted the silver streaks on the temples and above his forehead, and the warm tone of his tanned skin, and Wren had to concede that the astonishing fact of her having given him four children was not that astonishing at all.

* * *

Three hours later, after having listened to the children telling her all about their lives and having received a thorough tour around their rooms, Wren was starting to feel wobbly and tired, and the King apparently noticed.

"Alright now, _muzmazum,_ " he spoke, in a low affectionate voice, and took Othin off Wren's lap. The boy - who had been playing with her braid, loudly telling her of a training dummy he had 'kicked like that and smacked like that' - hung in Father's arms with a happy squeal, dangling sturdy legs in the air. "Your amad needs a nice meal to replenish her strength, and then a nap would be a good idea."

"I am too old to nap!" Othin hollered, seemingly out of habit. Wren snorted. She assumed the response was simple automatic.

"It is I who will nap, my little one," she said, stroking his silky curls.

"And I love naps," Dian announced proudly, clearly hoping for a praise. Wren kissed the top of his head.

"That is very good, my heart."

"I see magical dreams," Dain whispered to her conspiratorially, moving to her ear. "I see far away lands, and the future, and then it comes true." Wren stared at him, but he was already distracted by the book he had been showing her a minute ago.

"Alright, time to let amad go," Thror spoke firmly, and Dain and Unna who were sitting near Wren on the settee hastily climbed off. It was clear that subordination was taken seriously in the mysterious cozy world of her children.

"Will we see you tomorrow afternoon, amad? After you have proper rest?" Unna asked shyly, and Wren rose and kissed the girl's forehead.

"Most definitely, my treasure."

The children said their goodbyes, and Wren went out into the passage, followed by the King.

* * *

They started slowly walking back to their bedchambers. Wren had hurried so much on her way here, eager to see her children, that she had paid no attention. And now she could finally have a look around. The passages they were in were seemingly tunnels cut right into the flesh of the mountain, and they were decorated with tapestries, and cabinets, and carpets, everything around her seemingly glistening with gold and gems, and Wren suddenly felt very dizzy and disoriented.

The King caught her just before she hit the floor.

"Wren! Just hold on!" His voice was concerned, and Wren mumbled some reassurance. And then he picked her up in his arms, and hastily started walking. Clearly, that was far from the first time, since he was holding her just the perfect way, under her shoulder blades and her knees, and her arms somehow went around his neck without her will. Her heavy head lay on his shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

The tip of her nose was pressed to his neck, and Wren spend the next few minutes directing what strength she had left into ignoring the contact. His wife, or not, in her mind it was the first time in six years she had been that close to a male body.

His maleness was also aggravated by the fact that he was a Dwarf. Wren had not had much experience with the race, she had never had any among her patients, even in the short time she had served in Bree. The King's skin - and his children's as well - was hotter than she was used to, the hair seemed thicker and heavier. His beard was coarse, and much less silver gleamed in it than in his luscious locks. He was exceptionally wide in his shoulders, and his whole body was solid under the light doublet he threw over his white tunic. Altogether, despite certain burliness and heaviness, he was proportionally built, especially compared to the few Dwarves Wren had seen so far. On her way to the children's halls, Wren had been greeted by several people in the passages - courtiers, as she had assumed, and Til had confirmed.

A question creeped into Wren's fogged mind.

"What do… others know of my illness?" she mumbled, and the King looked at her askew.

"Nothing. Balin, your chambermaid, and the healers are the only ones who know. We did not even let the nursery maids know."

He stopped in front of the entrance into the parlour that led to their hals. Wren recognised the tapestry on the wall. And then he performed a trick that, Wren had to admit, was very impressive. Or perhaps, it had just been performed so many times before that it required no mental effort from him. He lifted his bent leg, and instead of his arm, Wren felt his knee under her bum, and he quickly pushed the door open with the freed hand. The arm was back under her buttocks - making Wren once again aware of the familiarity he manhandled her with - and he entered, back kicking the door closed behind him.

He marched through the parlour, and laid her on the bed. She had no strength to worry what it all meant and what she was to do. Instead, she closed her eyes, rolled on her side, and fell asleep.

* * *

 _ **To be continued... Pretty quickly, probably :) There are five more chapters written, and I just can't wait to share this silly fun with you, me lovelies!**_ **:***


	5. Blast From the Past

"Wren..." a soft voice called her, and Wren stirred and muttered something she herself knew not what. "Wren, my heart, you need to wake up. You need to eat."

Wren opened her eyes, saw the silk of the sheets in front of her eyes, remembered the last twenty four hours, and sat up with a jerk. The room and the Dwarf in it swam in front of her eyes. She keeled, and he supported her, his hot palm on her uninjured upper arm.

Wren's nose caught a delicious smell of meat, mushrooms, and thyme, and some root vegetables, and the nose twitched like a rabbit's, leading her towards a tray on the bed side table. The King softly laughed.

"It is your favourite venison stew, but I see you have already guessed." He sat on the bed and handed her a bowl. Wren tucked in, somehow completely undisturbed that his thigh was once again pressed to hers.

Wren ate, the King watched.

"Are you not hungry?" Wren asked, and threw a wistful look at the tureen on the tray. The King softly laughed, and picked up her bowl to refill it. Wren watched juicy chunks of meat, merry orange slices of carrots, some dried plums, and mushrooms hop into her plate.

"I have eaten already. Master Healer stopped by earlier, he saw you slept. He said your breathing was good, but suggested we woke you up soon to feed. How is your head?"

Wren chewed another spoonful of the stew.

"It still hurts, but it is much better. Why am I eating so much?" she asked suddenly, and looked into once again empty bowl. The King grinned.

"Another?"

"No, thank you. But some of the bread and cheese, please." And then she added after a small pause, "And the cold meat. And the pickled tomatoes." Wren felt her cheeks flush from embarrassment. She could not help it, though. She felt ravenous. The King handed her a plate and picked up a slice of cheese for himself.

"You eat just as usual. You always have healthy appetite."

"But how am I still that bony then?" she asked in disbelief. "My mother was bulbous at this age." Wren would also like to know why she was discussing her figure with a person - and a man for that matter - that she had met the day before. Figuratively speaking.

"It is because you have plenty of physical exercise," he answered in a nonchalant tone, but Wren's senses started ringing an alarm toll. Something in his suddenly lower, more smoky voice told her he did not mean she had a habit of lifting buckets of water or cleaning stables. Wren stopped chewing and gave him a suspicious look. The owner of the smoky voice was innocently savouring his cheese.

Wren decided a change of topic was required.

"If you have not told anyone that I have lost my memory, how am I to fulfill my duties? I know nothing about what Queens do." Wren sounded lost.

"They marry a King and give him heirs," he told her, pressing his lips, hiding a mischievous smile. Based on how he had treated her so far, Wren assumed this misogynist statement was just a joke, but some stubbornness woke up in her, and she gave him an innocent look.

"So, I have already fulfilled my duties, then? I could retire and enjoy some trifle pursuits, like making paintings out of dry flowers, or embroidering kittens and ducklings."

He guffawed heartily, falling on the bed, on his side. And Wren did not want to ogle him! But the crow's feet that ran in the corners of his eyes, white teeth gleaming, and a booming fruity sound of his laughter made her smile smugly back, and she just could not tear her eyes off him!

"I surrender to your wit, my Queen. I have forgotten that it is only your memory that is lost, and not your sharp tongue." He gave her a wink, and stretched his long arm for another slice of cheese from her plate. Wren - obviously, feeling that free only because she was distracted by his laughing - carefully poked his hand with her fork, protecting her food. The Dwarf yelped and roared with laughter again.

Wren took mercy and gestured, inviting him to help himself. He lifted one brow and snatched more cheese. Wren, feeling warm and safe, from full stomach, and soft covers around her, sighed. Perhaps, a bit of heart to heart was overdue.

"I am sorry that I do not remember you," she spoke quietly and met his eyes. He was listening attentively, his gaze calm and cordial. "I cannot imagine how difficult it is for you… And thank you. You are being very patient."

"It has only been one day, my heart. I will soon rebel." He chuckled. "We both know temper has always been my flaw."

"We do not," Wren corrected him and pointed at herself with the fork. He snorted. "But I can make an educated guess. Though, I cannot say any of my pre-existing convictions about the Dwarves turned out correct."

"Oh?" The brow jumped up again. "That is interesting."

Wren handed him the empty plate, and he returned it on the tray. A dish with raspberries appeared between them on the bed, and Wren picked up couple red juicy berries. They were her favourite. The King placed a few in his mouth as well, and Wren suddenly thought that now his lips and his breath must smell of the fragrant fruit.

He lay on his side, supporting himself on one elbow, and Wren asked herself when exactly he had moved so much closer.

"So, what were those convictions?" he asked, popping another berry in his mouth.

"I have just arrived to Dale..." Wren started, but then realised how erroneous her statement was. "I mean..."

"Aye, I understand. You had just arrived to Dale, right before the cart of pigs attacked you." They both laughed, and Wren slid lower in her pillows, enjoying the comfort. The home dress she wore bunched up under the covers, and she moved her legs back and forth enjoying the silk of sheets sliding on her skin cooling it.

"As I was saying, I had not been in Dale long enough to meet that many of your people..."

"Our people," he corrected her.

"Do not overwhelm me, please," she asked softly. "I have had only twenty four hours to accept that my husband and my children are not of Men. I cannot yet comprehend being a ruler of a whole nation of Dwarves."

"I did not doubt your maternal love, but to know that I was accepted is a relief," he murmured, and that was when Wren realised how much her guard had been lowered.

They were so close to each other, on a bed, in scarce clothing, enjoying raspberries! Somehow she was all of a sudden certain of two things. Firstly, that it had happened before, and probably more than once. And secondly, their current languished pastime had been of the Dwarf's purposeful design! She was being shamelessly seduced! She had been placed in comfort and luxury, fed, and Wren would bet her former best surgical tools that he was well aware that raspberries were her most favourite treat! His eyes shone warmly, but there was some dangerous light hiding in the blue depth, and he licked his lips unconsciously. And where was his doublet? The thin white tunic on him was soft and underlined the strong plains of his torso. Evidently, he as well was fond of physical exercise, since his body - though heavy and not at all unnaturally sculpted as some guards in Dale had built in their idle service - was taut and robust. Wren had suddenly discovered that male chest might be something her libido could find arousing - which she had been completely unaware of previously - and immediately another realisation dawned. After being married to her for twenty years, there was only one way he could have avoided learning what titillated her. That was if he were blind, deaf, utterly unobservant, and completely disinterested in her tastes and preferences. Everything so far had pointed at the opposite! Wren felt panicked! The Dwarven King played her like a master minstrel played a lute!

Wren gulped and sat straighter on the bed. He watched her move, and then his gaze slid down from her face into her neck and then collarbones. Wen blushed furiously.

"I think I need… rest..." Wren choked out, more and more panic rising in her.

She had realised that everything she now knew was based on what she had been told by the very man in front of her, and Maiar knew, what lay under the surface of this new life of hers she knew nothing about. And besides, Wren was dreading fully accepting her role as his wife and his Queen, as if would lead to her actually performing some duties and obligations, and who was she to even attempt it? She was Wren of Enedwaith, a frightened, insecure girl of Men, locked in a body of a mature woman, but no less unsophisticated and uneducated.

The Dwarf studied her face, and then he shifted and gently picked up her hand.

"Wren, you thanked me for being patient with you. It is I who should thank you. You are enduring this ordeal with most admirable composure. I know you, _yâsithuh._ You are agonising over being unworthy right now, and not wanting to disappoint others, and at the same time you feel trapped and forced into this life." His eyes were earnest, and Wren exhaled a shuddered breath she did not know she had been holding. "Forgive me," he continued, sudden remorse colouring his features. "I momentarily forgot how odd and discomforting it must feel to you. And I behaved too freely." He sat up and even moved away from her. "I will give you all the time you need. To learn your life anew. And to learn me." He smiled to her warmly. "I am rather confident you will grow to love me again. After all, we are the same people."

That sounded marginally arrogant, but Wren could not argue with the logic. She was also overwhelmed by fierce gratitude to him. It was beyond noble of him to be so understanding.

"And I have to say, all things considered, that is quite exciting," he added, smirking lopsidedly - which was endlessly distracting for Wren's frenzied nerves. "I did not have a chance to woo you last time. I can enjoy the pursuit now." The dangerous light that Wren had previously only guessed in his glacial irises was now burning full force, and Wren sucked a sharp breath in. That was how deer must feel at the sight of a hunter with a bow straining in their hands. That is if the deer had a death wish and actually wanted to be slayed - because Wren would be lying if she denied that - just a tinsy bit she did want to fall prey to his charms.

"You are cheating, my lord," Wren choked out. She asked herself whether she was flirting, and had to admit to the positive answer to this question. "You know all the shortcuts and all my weaknesses, and where is the pleasure of a chase here? You will succeed quickly; and the catch, let us be honest here, is nothing new to you."

"Oh but it is," the Dwarf purred and moved closer to her. This time Wren did not feel scared or alarmed. She had to admit that she was feeling shamelessly exhilarated. "You are always new and fresh to me, and there is always more to learn about you. And now..." His eyes roamed her face, and Wren felt her cheekbones warm up. "It is like none of these years happened. It is my turn to lure you..."

Wren stopped her panting and asked, taken aback a bit, "Do you mean to say it was me who... lured you?"

"Aye, my temptress. You took my hand, led me to your chamber in an inn, and then ravished me without shame and restraint, all through the night, until the early hours of dawn," he murmured, his voice nothing but a rasp and sweetness, like molasses, and wild honey, and the strongest of brews. Wren could not break away from the spell of their locked eyes, and in the silence of the room she could hear his shallow, swift breathing.

Wren had two choices: to allow him to muddle her, and to give in, just as every cell in her body demanded, without asking herself why she would suddenly lose all her sanity and her prudeness, and believe that she, uptight and - almost - virginal Wren of Enedwaith, a prig and a coward, would do something that mad and that lewd; or she could fight, for her independence and her self-respect.

And even if indeed what he told her was true, and she indeed had been the one to start their affair then - just as twenty years ago, Wren would not know now how to do such thing! She had no skill in carnal matters; there was little hope that her memories would return in time for her to become the sensual experienced woman whom he was used to seeing in his arms… and last but not the least, Wren was not to be beguiled so easily!

"That does not sound like me," she rasped out, and cleared her throat. "Was I befuddled?" He gave her another dark smirk of his.

"You were sober and rather business like about it. The next day when I was hollering and wailing like an enamoured boy, you declared that you needed nothing from me besides this one night of passion, and I needed not feel I had any obligations towards you. I felt like a blithering idiot." He barked a hearty laugh. "I was madly in love, and you as much as claimed to have used my body for pure pleasure of sensual nature. I almost left then..." His eyes were sparkling with mirth and tenderness, and Wren frowned.

"That sounds even less like me. I cannot imagine being so calculative about… intimacy. I cannot see how I could have been taking it lightly, or with such practicality. Why would I say that?"

"Because you lied." He lifted his hand and tapped the tip of his index finger to her nose lightly. "You were protecting me from unwise choices."

"Marrying a woman of Men, and a simple healer for that matter, does strike me rather unwise," Wren pointed out, and he shook his head, chuckling.

"It has been twenty years, my heart. And so far, I am yet to regret it." He smiled to her. "You yourself have told me many times afterwards that you thought then that I did not loved you, and that I had spent that night with you out of some 'mysterious Dwarven reasons,' since you could hardly see how you could have enticed me. While I remember standing that day in front of you, and wondering how I could convince you to go back to the Mountain with me, since I did not want to part with you even for a minute."

Wren felt so touched that her eyes prickled. It seemed that the King and her had quite a wonderful story, and she was flooded by acute regret that she had forgotten those days… And that night, as well. Still, it felt good to know that she was that successful in her first ever attempt to lure a man, and that the first night was memorable enough for them to build a twenty year long marriage on it, in which fire and hunger for each other clearly still burnt after all these years and four children.

"I am so sorry I do not remember it..." she said again, and he tenderly brushed this thumb to her cheek.

"We will make new memories, my heart."

Wren gave him a shaky smile, and he leaned in to her lips.

 _ **To be continued... (Four more chapters written and counting... I can never stop at less than three, can I? :D)**_

* * *

 **Thank you for the reviews, my darlings!**

 **1. youngbones7: Previously, "Thowren" was suggested as the ship name :P **

**2. obsessedreader: Here you go! More and quickly :)**

 **3. dearreader: The kids are so much fun to write! You just wait to see them all grown up in "The Four Corners of Middle Earth" ;)**

 **4. Guest: Ehehe, but they are mutants! Little adorable Half-Bloods :D**

 **5. Christina Fey: Thank you!**

 **6. Wynni: Yes, 'Wren glare' is a thing of horror :D**

 **7. Just4Me: Othin is my favourite at the moment. I'm still ruminating the love story for him as you requested. There are so many scenarios!**


	6. Escape the Bear

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 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

His breath indeed smelled of raspberries; and Wren craved the lips, and the warmth; and the kiss was just an instant away, when a thought flashed through her mind.

At the moment, close to him, clouded in the heat coming off his body and the fresh grassy smell of his skin, after a delicious meal of her favourite dishes, and after an emotional conversation, she felt trusting and perhaps even somewhat enthralled by him. She would feel less safe and less gullible later, and after all it was not at all in her character to be so easily beguiled! He had an astonishing - or not at all, considering the circumstances - amount of power over her, and her urges, and her desires. If she wanted to preserve her independence and make decisions that felt natural to her, she needed to put some distance between herself and a man whom, in her mind, she had known for one day.

Pushing him away directly would not do at all, though. He was her husband, and their relationship was clearly of loving and passionate nature. He behaved honourably, and she did not want to hurt him, especially after the fright he had had of his wife being clobbered to the head with a bypassing hammer and not waking up for more than a day. Wren needed to win some time, and to be smart about it. And then she remembered that he had claimed he wanted to feel the rush of a chase. She could give him that, and give herself time to grow used to her life at the same time!

Wren pressed her finger across his lips, and the blue eyes framed by thick black lashes flew open.

"I do not kiss men I have only known for a day," Wren feigned a strict tone.

"We have already kissed once," he teased, and she felt the whiskers of his black moustache tickle the tip of her finger.

"It was for medicinal purposes," Wren deadpanned. "I needed to make sure it could not stir some memories. It did not."

"Was it our first kiss then? It surely felt like it. So fresh… so new… untouched..."

Clearly, the King was winning in this game of seduction - with his smoky sensual voice, sultry eyes, and lips wetted by his tongue that darted out for an instant. Wren needed to raise her game.

"How much time had passed between us seeing each other for the first time, and me - presumably - initiating our relations?" she asked, edging away from him. He paused, and his bright eyes studied her. She could only hope that he knew her well enough to understand that she was not rejecting him, or being insensitive. And then a corner of his lips curled up, and he gave her an impish side glance.

"Seven moons. I was a patient in your infirmary, there had been a battle, and Orcs, but it is of no importance." He dismissed the fact that Orcs had apparently been involved in their association with a wave of his hand. Wren decided to just accept it, for now. "And then one night, just before I was supposed to return to Erebor, you came up to me in the inn's common room."

"So, seven moons?" Wren feigned counting something in her head. "It is quite a term of course, but I would say I am entitled to the same amount of time to ponder my feelings for you now."

"What?! No! Seven months?!" he exclaimed, and judging by smile suddenly leaving his eyes, he took her words seriously.

"At most," Wren corrected. "Of course, my memories might return earlier."

"Wren, you cannot be serious!" He sat up on the bed so sharply that the now empty bowl rolled off and fell on the carpet with a thud.

"It might be less, of course. If I suddenly find myself… convinced," Wren drew out, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Convinced of what exactly?"

"That… I am ready to give in to the chase. That I am lured."

That was the first time - in her memory, that was - when seduction and sensual talk had been Wren's goal, and she was feeling largely insecure, but using his own words against him seemed to work on the man in front of her. And then she knew what she thought and what she needed to say.

"I want to feel convinced that it were once again that night before your return to Erebor that I would do everything just the same."

He watched her a few seconds, and Wren shyly returned his look, holding her breath. And then he looked down, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Agreed," he answered in a low voice, and then the bright blue eyes flew up again, and Wren's breath hitched from the hunger and passion burning in them. "But do not expect me to play fair, Wren. I do know your weaknesses, and I will utilise every one of them."

Wren gathered her last remnants of willpower, and lifted her chin.

"I would not expect any less from you, my lord," she answered confidently, despite not feeling so at all. "But remember, in my mind you are the first Dwarf I had exchanged more than a dozen of words, and I am a prude, and nothing interests me in life but my herbs and my service. Mawkishness and busses in my opinion are just a waste of time, and the pursuit of lesser minds."

Wren was of course exaggerating, but he knew that, no doubt. He smirked lopsidedly.

"Even better. I do love me a challenge," he purred, and Wren shivered from the indecency of his tone.

And then he suddenly jumped off the bed and started marching to the door. Wren looked after him in astonishment.

"Um… Thorin?"

He looked at her over his shoulder.

"I shall see you at dinner, my Queen. I will have everything arranged, Til will help you to prepare." Wren felt sudden alarm rising.

"But what am I to do now?" she asked in a small voice. He turned, and his face changed. He momentarily abandoned their game, his expression cordial and open, and Wren was flooded by gratitude.

"I will send your apprentice to you. Her name is Gylta, and she is a smart girl. She will help you with your responsibilities, and will keep her mouth shut."

Wren exhaled in relief.

"Thank you."

He smiled to her warmly, and then his eyes ran her and stopped on her toes, which she carelessly let show from under the blankets.

"Choose your attire for dinner wisely, my Queen. I know what hides under all those layers, and have an unrestricted fondness for every little inch of you."

Wren jerked her feet back into the sanctuary of covers. He gave her a wink and left. Wren blew some air through rounded lips and rolled on her stomach, pressing her face into her pillows. It turned out they were not just her pillows, judging by the spicy grassy smell of juniper soap and the Dwarven King's skin on them, and she groaned. She knew of course nothing horrible was happening in her life, but a bit of control over the said life would be rather favourable.

* * *

Gylta was a short and merry Dwarven maiden, round and rosy cheeked, and she confidently marched into Wren's bedroom with a knock that she did not wait for an answer to.

"My Queen, good day. His Majesty told me everything," she announced and stopped in front of Wren's bed.

She wore a well-cut dress, a sort of an apron over it, and her hair was pinned back in a much more modest do that Wren had seen on occasional passers by when she had gone to see her children.

"Worry not. I am at your full disposal, and I know we need to be discreet, until your memory is back." The girl looked Wren over. "I am your apprentice in the infirmary, I also help you with registers and other paperwork. I could not help with correspondence. That would be Edda, your secretary; but I would not trust her, she is a chatterbox. I think we can manage it for now, though. One step at a time, aye?"

Wren felt immediately better from the girl's business like approach and sober outlook. After rebraiding her hair and changing into a different dress - Gylta helped Wren to choose the one that would attract least attention - Wren followed the maiden into the infirmary.

It was a large sequence of halls, with a parturiency ward, and an enormous apothecary. They spent the next four hours looking through registers and giving Wren a tour. Wren found it almost ironic that the last few days she remembered - apparently from twenty years before - she had been pondering what it would be like to become a chief healer in the Dale infirmary. Her tentative ambitions from back then now seemed like children's play compared to commanding an infirmary of a large underground settlement, and the whole Kingdom to boot.

Wren's head was starting to throb from all the mental effort, and at some point Gylta put an end to their work, claiming that the Queen was pale and needed rest. Wren also remembered that she had a dinner to attend, and she indeed needed time to prepare to it.

* * *

The sadly sniffling and sighing Til was rushing around Wren, who after a long, endlessly pleasant bath with aromatic essences, stood in her wardrobe room. Wren had once again insisted on a simpler attire, but allowed a bit more frills and gems, considering she was to have a dinner with a King.

Gylta, meanwhile, stood nearby, enlightening Wren on more details regarding the life in the Mountain, and Wren's role in it.

"And how many Men are there in the Mountain?" Wren asked, and both girls in the room gave her a confused look.

"My Queen?" Gylta asked, clearly requiring clarification.

"How many more persons of my race dwell in Erebor?" The maid and the apprentice exchanged looks. Wren felt a bit worried.

"None, my Queen. There are no Long Ones in the Mountain."

"But..." The girls once again threw each other a look. Wren was not sure of its meaning. "Am I the only one then? And my children?"

"It is true you were born of parents from Men, but the people of Mahal have accepted you," Gylta answered in a firm tone. "Yourself, your sons, your daughter, and other children that are still to come, are of the Khazad, my Queen."

Wren was mostly concerned with one aspect of this - certainly encouraging - reassurance, and squeaked, "More to come?"

That finally cheered up Til, whose behaviour Wren had been finding rather depressing. The maid blushed and giggled. Gylta joined her, grinning widely.

"There were rumours of happy news to come soon, my lady," Gylta gave Wren a meaningful look. Wren pressed her hands over her stomach in shock. "All ladies-in-waiting were of course relieved that you were not expecting when the incident happened. But now thankfully everything will go back to normal."

Wren was going to answer that it was exactly the opposite, and as a woman of forty four years of age she probably had not even been considering another child, but she refrained. Adding another thing to agonise over was perhaps not the best idea right before facing the source of most of her worries.

* * *

The aforementioned source of Wren's worries was waiting for her in a small parlour adjoin to the bed chamber, and rose on his feet, when Wren entered, accompanied by Til. The maid curtsied and left, practically running. Wren thought she heard a giggle from behind the quickly closed door. Though an improvement from the girl's constant sniffling, the reaction seemed rather ominous to Wren.

There was a table with copious dinner served, moved close to the fireplace, and candles burned on almost every surface around it. Wren's sensitive nose caught the smell of roasted mutton.

"Good evening… Thorin," Wren choked on the name. After the respect and mannerly decorum she had been treated with in the infirmary, and the reverence with which the King had been talked about, Wren was doubting simple first name appellation was indeed appropriate.

"Evening," the King purred, and moved a chair away from the table for her. That also was probably not a common happenstance - what man was that courteous with his wife of twenty years? - and Wren edged towards her seat and slowly sat.

Wren looked at the dishes in front of her. Roasted lamb chops, root vegetables in garlic and herbs oil, parsley butter, fresh bread, a bowl of pickled tomatoes, and several other dishes - all her favourites it seemed - including sliced merry pink radishes with dill, cabbage vinaigrette salad, and even sauteed fiddleheads - all of these dishes were clearly the cobblestones that the King had laid to Wren's heart through her stomach, which joyously growled in anticipation.

Wren gulped and prepared to hold the fort. She clearly needed all her willpower to defend her fortress tonight.

 _ **To be continued soon ;)**_


	7. Feast to the Eyes

Wren was feeling very uncomfortable under the gaze of the King Under the Mountain. The glacial blue eyes were sparkling, soft curved lips twitched from time to time in the black beard, and one black eyebrow was perpetually slightly raised, and Wren's cheeks just would not stop flaming, since they had sat in front of each other. The candles charmingly flickered, the fire in the hearth crackled cozily, the food was delicious, and Wren's back was starting to hurt from how straight and tense her spine was. She was eating in silence, cutting off small pieces of her food, making sure there were no pauses between the bites, so she was not expected to talk.

Wren almost regretted not being able to drink any brew. Ale and wine made her muddled immediately, and then she would grow sick in a course of three minutes. Perhaps, she had developed more tolerance towards the beverages in her current age, but risking vomiting and then fainting would have to remain the last resort - if a desperate attempt to avoid her Dwarven husband of twenty years was required.

"Once your first hunger is satisfied, my treasure, we should talk," the King said lightly, placing a cube of roasted rutabaga into his mouth and chewing decorously. Wren hummed noncommittally, her mind thrashing in panic. She internally scolded herself for failing to have prepared some safe conversation topic. "I propose you to ask me questions of the past, and I answer them earnestly."

Wren gave him an incredulous look over her goblet of water.

"I would expect a man to hate such maudlin conversation," she muttered, and he gave her a wide gleaming smile.

"I would not mind recollecting our happy moments." He placed another mutton chop on his plate. "And this small effort will be worth the reward that I will reap… Repeatedly."

Wren choked on her roasted carrot and started coughing frantically. The King asked, with an almost sincere concern in his velvet voice, "More water, my heart?" Wren nodded spasmodically, and the King picked up the pitcher.

Wren drank, the King watched her with a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips. After she regained her composure, Wren exhaled and decided postponing the verbal match he was clearly planning was not possible anymore.

"I am still confounded by how it happened that you chose yourself a wife of Men, my lord," Wren mumbled, her eyes down to the slice of potato she was shifting on her plate.

"I thought we had discussed it, my heart. I fell victim to your allure." The King chuckled.

"You did not have to marry me. I suppose, if we could not resist the temptation, it could not have been helped." Wren chewed at her bottom lip. "But bringing the only… Long One to Erebor, and as your Queen no less, seems like such an unconventional act." Wren peeked, and saw the King frowning.

"No one argued with me," he answered, and put the fork aside. "I am the King of Longbeards, Wren. I reclaimed the Kingdom and brought back the wealth of my people. I reunited the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms. When I finally wanted something for myself, my people were only happy to oblige."

"And that something for yourself was… me?" Wren asked astonished and somewhat taken aback. Somehow the tone and phrasing reminded her of the excuses men of certain age used to justify buying an overpriced horse that they did not need.

"I demanded you to be accepted and treated with respect." His tone was grave, and Wren drew her brows together. His eyes roamed her face, and then he shook his head as if clearing his mind. "That was not the conversation I was aiming to have, Wren. Perhaps, you would like to hear something more… mawkish. We can talk of the trip to Hobbiton we took before our wedding, or that time when the two of us were stranded in a cave in a flood and..."

"No, thank you, my lord," Wren interrupted, and took a napkin off her lap. "I think this is time I repose." She got up, and he jumped on his feet.

"Wren, I did not wish to upset you. Perhaps, we could go back to this discussion. I feel I have not worded it the right way..."

"I believe you have worded it as precisely as possible. I am just overtaxed, and probably take everything too close to my heart…" Wren mumbled, and then her voice died out.

They stood for a few seconds in silence, and then he sighed. The sound was more irritated than upset.

"I will call a servant then," he grumbled, and Wren nodded, without looking at him. She could feel he was glaring at her. "Have a good night, Wren. I will see you tomorrow. I have emissaries from Iron Hills coming in the morning, but after that we could have midday meal together." Wren nodded again, her hands folded on her middle.

He made a quiet frustrated noise, like a pony displeased with the content of its morral.

"Good night," he as much as sneered, and left the room. Wren shortly wondered where he slept these nights. Judging by the smell of his soap on the sheets and by his undertunics scattered in her wardrobe, they had not been complying with the customs of nobility of Men, and had been sharing the canopy bed that Wren occupied presently.

Wren wandered back into her bedchamber, and with the help of the worried looking Til she undressed - industriously ignoring the girl's seeking looks - and climbed under the covers. The head hurt again, and Wren sighed and tossed and turned.

* * *

A knock came to the door, shaking Wren out of half slumber she was floating in. Til who was sleeping on a truckle bed in Wren's bedroom made a loud snorting noise and went back to her soft snoring.

Wren's first impulse was to grab some heavy object for protection and then to hastily wake up the girl, and then she remembered she was a Queen, in her halls, in a safe prosperous Kingdom with egalitarian social system. Wren climbed off the bed and padded barefoot to the door. Another knock followed, and she understood that the person wasn't behind the bedroom door, but one room removed, in her parlour.

Wren minced further, her soles nippy on the cold stone floor. She tried to ignore the now empty table in the parlour - the location of her unfortunate first tryst with the King - and finally she opened the door.

The King stood in the passage, and when Wren opened her mouth to greet him, he gently put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her backwards, into the chamber, and closed the door behind him. Wren felt anger rise. That was certainly inconsiderate!

"Forgive me, Wren. I will leave as soon as you ask, but I should not be seen wandering the halls, not allowed to my own bedchamber," he whispered, and Wren closed her mouth.

Unfortunately, through his explanation the King stepped very close to her, and his whispering gained Wren time to see what he looked like - the white night shirt was open down to his sternum, showing the firm pectoral muscles covered in black and silver chest hair. Wren swallowed a sudden knot in her throat. What was it with her and his chest?! Wren could not remember having been that affected by male physique, to say nothing about being almost obsessed with one specific part of a man's anatomy! And more so, Wren's previous undeveloped taste in men involved tall, lean, and blonde men of intellectual pursuit! Not excessively masculine, furry Dwarves, with a built of a bear, and hot hands that could encircle her waist if his index fingers and thumbs were locked. Wren shortly wondered if the hammer had inflicted injuries more serious upon her than she initially had assumed.

"I came to… apologise," the King whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" Wren hissed out.

"Not to wake up your maid. Although she is known to stay in the deepest slumber even when furniture is toppled over." Wren opened her mouth to ask in what circumstances exactly this gift of Til's had been confirmed, but the realisation dawn, and heady blush spilled on Wren's cheeks.

"I do not see what you would feel the need to apologise for, my lord. But if there is indeed something you would like to repent, I am certain the apology could have waited till morning," Wren muttered, haughtily, but keeping her voice down.

"Wren, I have already spent two sleepless nights on a very uncomfortable cot in my study," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I do not want to add to the worries that swirl in my mind the thought that my wife thinks herself my caper, a whim of an aging man, who gave the crown of his whole Kingdom to an unworthy woman in exchange for carnal pleasures."

Wren bit her tongue not to thank him venomously for summarising exactly the impression she now had of her current life. He met her eyes and smiled to her softly.

"Wren, I admit I lost my head over you then, and aye, you are not a Dwarf, but your mind enthralled me no less than your… ankles." He chuckled, but then his face grew serious and earnest again. "You won over my people just as fast as firmly as you conquered the heart of a man who never intended to marry. You are every bit the Queen Erebor could hope for. Never doubt it."

Wren listened, looking under her feet. With all honesty, she knew not what to answer. And besides, if she spoke now, she would start sobbing from relief, gratitude, and most likely would rush and hang on him. Wren took a few calming breaths in and peeked. The Dwarven King was peering, waiting for her response.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Wren repeated, and then quietly sniffled. "But surely this wonderful declaration would go better when accompanied by roasted mutton." The King chuckled again, and stepped a bit closer. He picked up her hands.

"I admit, I could have done better during the dinner," he murmured, a smile heard in his voice. "But, my treasure, I was distracted by..." He paused, and Wren threw him a look from under her lashes.

"By my ankles?"

The King looked down, and a corner of his lips curled up. Wren could not tear her eyes of the black whiskers above the soft pink lip.

"You do not remember it, my Queen, but I do indeed have quite a fondness for your tiny feet." The rasp and the low rumble made Wren shiver, but at the same time she felt a pang of alarm.

And she immediately asked herself whether the white shirt, opened almost down to his stomach, the dark hair scattered on his shoulders, and the fresh aroma of soap coming off the King's heavy body were the signs of danger she needed to be mindful of. Was the King's present look an equivalent of some lacy lingerie a temptress would wear to lure a male into her web?

"Apology accepted," Wren answered in a quiet but firm tone, and pulled her hands back. There was a moment when the hot strong fingers would not let go of hers, but then her digits slid out of his loosened grasp.

And then his hot palm lay on her waist, and he pulled her into him. Wren gasped and jerked in his embrace.

"Wren..." he muttered. "I almost lost you... And I will sleep on that cursed cot, and I will endure the dreams, and will charm you, and will walk around you like an enamoured boy, but I need something… I miss my wife… I need to hope she is still there, underneath this cold exterior… You are looking at me like at a stranger..." His voice broke, and Wren saw his lips twist. Acute sympathy clenched Wren's heart.

She stopped trying to step away from him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her temple to his.

"I am so sorry… I am..." she whispered. "I am so very sorry..."

"Do I frighten you so much?" he asked, and Wren felt shocked by the lost tone, and even more pity flooded her heart.

"You do not frighten me. I just… I just do not know you. But..." She searched her mind for the right words. "I trust you. I have never trusted a man before." She moved away and met his eyes. She allowed him to see every emotion storming in her heart. "I feel safe with you, despite not remembering anything. Thorin, everything I see in you… All of it is wonderful, and everything I would like to see in a husband… It is just that I..."

"You have only seen a little so far," he finished her thought, and Wren nodded shyly. "As kind and flattering as your words are, Wren… What if you see something you will not enjoy?" he asked, and some sort of old pain ran his features.

"I have stayed with you for twenty years," Wren offered a tentative consolation. "And I highly doubt I could have missed some horrid flaw in you, Thorin. My ladies-in-waiting were hinting on scandalously passionate and loving marriage..." Wren was pleased to see the King's face to light up with a smile, and she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

When she shifted to kiss the other one, he twisted his head and caught her mouth. Wren decided such frivolity should be forgiven in the circumstances. She allowed him squeeze her even tighter, and relaxed into his enthusiastic caresses. His hand flew up, and the fingers threaded into the hair at the back of her head. Goosebumps ran down her neck and nape, and something oddly buzzed in her lower back. Her whole body felt feverish, and she shifted between her feet on the floor, without noticing its coldness.

And then the King grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away.

"Enough!" he as much as barked, and Wren instantly sobered up and winced away from him. He took a step away backwards and closed his eyes. "I will not be able to stop… I will go... Now..."

And then he twirled on his heels, jerked the door, clumsily let go of the handle, the door slammed into the wall, Wren jumped up, and then the King was gone. The door slowly closed after him with a long mournful screech.

Wren stared at the spot he had been occupying a second ago, and then she decided that was quite enough for the second day of her new life. She shook her head and went back to bed.

 _ **To be continued (of course :D)...**_

* * *

 **Author's note :**

 **Please, give a chance to my independent fantasy webserial _Ani_ on my blog  rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca. You can read the story (updated every two weeks) and see my art.**

 **If you're looking for some silly modern adventure, try my story on JukePop: the name is Katya Kolmakov, and the story is _Better Than One _ (both protagonists - a grump with a black beard, and a chatty redhead) might seen familiar ;)**

 **And if you are feeling exceptionally generous, I have writer's Facebook (katyakolmakov) and I also draw (Kolmakov Pictorials Facebook page), and a blog: kolmakov dot ca.**

 **Happy 4th of July to my readers in USA, and belated Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians!**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**


	8. Go Hog Wild

Wren was rudely awoken by Til's loud voice. Having had a couple of rather stimulating days, Wren squealed, flailed, and fell off the bed, shaking and gasping for air. The maid, joined by Gylta for some reason, picked up their Queen from the floor and perched on the edge of the bed.

"Lord Ironfoot is here!" Gylta hollered into Wren's face. Wren wondered whether the apprentice had recently sustained a head injury as well, since the words made no sense.

"Pardon?"

"Lord Dain Ironfoot is here!" This time Gylta's voice was even more deafening. Wren often wondered why people thought repeating the same thing but louder helped in any case of confusion. "He came with his emissaries!"

"Alright…" Wren rubbed her temples trying to grasp for some meaning.

"He is your husband's cousin! And he will want to see you, and he will know!" Gylta gestured something vague around Wren's head with both splayed hands.

"Alright..." Wren repeated. "Firstly, I do not have to come out and meet him. I could be busy, or sick, or sleeping in..."

"He will want to see you. You are… cronies," Gylta announced with a despair written over her face, and Til lost her nerve and wailed a long squeal like sob.

"I am cronies with a Dwarven Lord?" Wren pressed a hand to her forehead. "Well, that is just marvellous. What could possibly go wrong?"

Perhaps, it was not that bad, Wren thought. She seemed to be getting along with one Dwarven leader. Surely, if Lord Dain was anything like his cousin, Wren could manage a conversation with him at dinner.

"But it is a rather special sort of friendship." Gylta gave Wren a mournful look. "The two of you banter."

Wren felt something unpleasant clench in her stomach.

"Banter?"

"It is more of an exchange of… insults. Mild of course, and in the best of tastes!" If Gylta thought she was reassuring, she was wrong. "You are very fond of each other. You are the only Long One whom Lord Ironfoot favours."

Wren closed her eyes in exasperation. She just had to do it - to befriend another Dwarf, and apparently develop some sort of brutish camaraderie with him! Like a character in those ballads, where the minstrel sings about some heroic acts, while writing themselves into the protagonist, Wren just had to not only win over the people of Erebor - her husband's words, not hers! - but she also managed to become friends with every other male around.

"Tell him, I am… away somewhere." Wren crossed her arms stubbornly. "I am not coming out of this room to embarrass myself. I am hardly holding it together, I am not allowing people to know they have a Queen lesser than before."

The girls exchanged looks, and Wren puffed air in irritation. Gylta then nodded and left the room. Til slowly left for the bath chambers, making sorrowful whimpering noises. Water poured at the background, and Wren fell backwards on the bed.

* * *

"Queenie! Hey, _gamkûna_! Where is my Little Queenie?!" A raucous roar carried through passages, and Wren froze with a piece of her breakfast sandwich two inches away from her open mouth.

The doors flung open, and in front of Wren stood the most stunning Dwarf. The man was of normal height for his race, probably only reaching the King's shoulder. He was bulbous, appallingly red haired, and at first Wren thought he had tusks. Some sort of round bone decorations turned out to be weaved into his white moustache, and beads and braids decorated the orange beard and his mane. There were tattoos on his forehead, and despite the limited height he seemed to suddenly have taken all possible room in Wren's bedchamber.

He saw her and open his arms in a wide gleeful gesture.

"Queenie!" The hail was ear splitting and exhilarated. "Why are you hiding in your room?! Are you up the duff again, is that what it is?!"

Wren made a small 'myam' sound. Til who was pouring her tea started shaking, and quiet clanking of a cup on a saucer filled the room.

And then the King appeared in the doorframe. He was slightly out of breath, as if he was running through passages to save him wife from the invasion of ferocious ginger shorties.

"Cousin! I found your little wifey!" Lord Ironfoot then turned to Wren. "How is life, minikin?"

Wren saw the King freeze, his cautious eyes on her. She gathered a deep breath and turned to the guest.

"My life is full of some wild hogs stampeding through my bedroom, when I am trying to enjoy my breakfast."

"Mahal be blessed," the ginger Dwarf roared. "And I was worried you were sick, you were so quiet! And you, cousin? What is with the dark mug and clenched buttocks?" He looked the King over and then smirked. "Or am I interrupting something?"

"You are interrupting my dessert," Wren answered, and saw the King's eyebrows jump up. Lord Ironfoot barked an indecent laughter.

"Alright, alright, do not get your bloomers in a knot, little bug. Here, have your cake!" The redhaired Dwarf smacked a spade like palm into the King's back, pushing him ahead, inside the room. "Whisk couple more Oakenshields, and find me to talk about those ore prices, shall you, cousin?"

And giving Wren a wink, the Dwarf left. Til exhaled with a whimper, dropped the cup, and made a hurried escape. An exhale that Wren emitted was loud and about three seconds long.

The King still stood in the door. Wren looked more closely and saw his shoulders shake in a silent laugh.

"What?" Wren mumbled under her breath. "I had to improvise."

* * *

The first rumble of laughter finally burst out of the King, and then he was booming a guffaw after a guffaw, and then he pressed a hand into the door frame supporting his slumping form.

"Mahal help me… 'You are interrupting my dessert...'" The white teeth gleamed in a wide smile, and he shook his head. "Years go by, and you still do not require any knight in a shining armour to save you." Wren hastily suppressed the thought about the King in a shining armour, but the mental image stubbornly lingered. "Which one of us is here to impress the other?"

Wren preened up on her bed. She felt warm and somewhat smug under his admiring, impish gaze, and - no doubt because he looked so humbled and enamoured - she offered, "Would you join me for tea, my lord?"

He eagerly walked up to the bed. Wren should have known better, but apparently she was yet to learn her lesson. Contrary to her expectations, the King did not sit decorously to enjoy his cup. He dropped on his back, in the feet of the bed, with a dramatic groan.

"Mahal help me, I miss the bed." The King stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. Wren's jaw was slowly descending towards her newly acquired breasts.

And then her cheeks flamed up like pans. The doublet and the tunic on the King slid up, baring the stomach. Wren grabbed the teapot to have something to do, but the cup was nowhere to see. Wren looked around helplessly. She wondered if she could not quite find any tea vessels because she could see nothing but the image now probably forever etched into her brain - that of the black strip of hair going down the King's stomach.

"The cot in my study is killing me," the King murmured. He lay with his eyes closed, hands now folded on his middle. Wren fought and lost. She just could not tear her eyes off the high cheekbone, tanned even skin, the thick glossy eyebrow, and the shadow of long fluffy lashes. "Are you intending to drink tea from the pot, my treasure?" the King purred, without opening his eyes.

Wren jolted, and stared at the pot in her hand.

"I cannot find the cup..." she mumbled weakly.

"Til dropped it on the floor after you chased Dain Ironfoot out of our bedroom with your insinuation that we were intending to start working on that small plan you had devised before your incident."

"What small plan?" Wren internally hissed at herself for asking. She did know all this talk was part of his seduction efforts, and she for some reason just jumped into the trap readily!

"Oh, nothing much," he drew out, patting his stomach. "You wanted another daughter."

Wren gulped. The blue eyes opened, and of course an eyebrow started its journey up.

"You have read somewhere that if a couple wishes for a female child, there are foods to eat to ensure it. Oh..." The King imitated remembered some minor detail with amazing acting precision. "And of course there were certain… positions mentioned."

"Could I, please, ask you to find the cup?" Wren sounded like a person with severe throat fever.

"Gladly," he answered lightly, and rolled off the bed.

The cup was indeed on the floor, and the King used the opportunity of giving it to her to sit very, very close. Wren poured the now lukewarm beverage, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Since there was only one cup, she took a sip and handed it to the King, who seemed quite content with the arrangement.

They shared the remnants of her sandwich, then the second one, and started on the slice of the coffee cake. Somewhat fed and no less affected by his proximity, Wren had a philosophical question pop up in her mind. She wondered whether she would have been noticing and appreciating the King's small habits, had she not lost her memory and watched him with familiarity. Presently, everything about him seemed exciting and, putting it frankly, endlessly alluring. There were peculiarities, and Wren could not help but greedily note them. He held the cup by the top, between his middle finger and his thumb. He brushed the crumbs off the moustache with a curled index finger. There were crow's feet in the corners of his eyes that grew deeper when he would squint enjoying the glazed part of the cake.

Wren gulped, and put down the cup she currently was in charge of.

"Could I?.." she started, and stumbled over her words. The King lifted one eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "Could I do something... bold, but without… repercussions for me?"

The King's laugh was merry and open.

"I could not give you full assurance, but I promise to try to refrain from whatever… repercussions I feel urged to inflict upon you."

Wren slowly exhaled, gathering her will, and moved closer to him on the bed. She stretched her hand, and there was a moment when her fingers paused trembling an inch away from his face - she was painfully aware of some sort of a tense current that seemed to run between the tips of her digits and his skin - and then she stroked along his thick black eyebrow, from the wide part of silky whiskers close to his nose, along the curve, along the masculine line, and to its corner. She repeated the movement with her thumb then, and then the very tips of her fingers brushed at his temple. She featherly ran her index finger down his nose, and equally lightly she brushed her thumb to his bottom lip.

"What are you doing, my little Queen?" he asked in a raspy voice, his eyes intent on her face.

"I am learning you," Wren whispered back, and then leaned in and kissed his cheek. She saw the fluffy lashes flutter, and the King closed his eyes. "Thank you for your patience."

Wren looked down and saw his large hand lie on his lap, fingers relaxed, and she traced the veins hiding under the tanned skin, feeling the coarse black hair, and then his fingers twitched, and he slowly turned his hand, opening his palm to her.

There were callouses and a fresh narrow cut, probably from a parchment, and Wreh splayed her hand on his. A thought flashed through her mind: in the twenty years these hands had touched her, caressed her, supported her, held her newborn children, wielded a sword protecting her and her family…

And Wren jumped ahead, wrapping arms around his neck, and clumsily pressing her lips to his. The kiss was askew and endlessly awkward, but thankfully the King possessed quick wit. He quickly arranged her, pulling her onto his lap, and tucking her bony legs from his way. He cupped the back of her head, angling her face, and gaining full access to her lips.

They kissed for a few minutes, and Wren grew so bold that her hands were starting to wander his shoulders and upper arms. She knew, of course, that her actions were very modest for caresses between a married couple, but for her it felt exhilarating and fairly terrifying. In her memory she had not touched a man so freely for six years, and the circumstances then had been quite different.

"If these are..." the King whispered, his lips placing a row of small kisses along her jaw, towards her ear. "The repercussions you were talking about..." His lips brushed at the lobe, and a shudder ran through Wren's body. "You are about to face them now..."

He then bent down, and his half open, hot mouth was pressed to the muscle between Wren's neck and shoulder. Wren started shaking so violently that her teeth chattered audibly.

"I just could not… help it..." she whined. "But I am still..." His lips shifted, down her shoulder, and then he picked up the collar of her night dress with his teeth and pulled. The strap fell down, opening her shoulder and collarbone to him. "I am still not certain..." Wren was not sure how to ask him to stop - and whether she wanted him to. "Please..."

"Please what?" the King murmured into her skin, and another hot kiss lay on her clavicle. "Please go on, or please stop?" His voice was coarse and indecent, and Wren felt flustered and confused.

She had always believed it was a person's right to engage in carnal pursuits whenever and whomever with they wanted; and she herself had never found herself in a man's bed after knowing him for two days not because she felt it was morally wrong, but just because it never came to it: no one had ever asked, and she had never wanted to. On the other hand, she was the man's wife, and she could clearly see how and why it had come to be. They clearly loved each other, and Maiar help her, she had never desired any man that much! Perhaps, there was not that much to him being a Dwarf! She had gotten used to it astonishingly quickly, and had lost her head over him!

"Please, be patient with me..." she whispered, and he paused, and lifted his eyes at her. Wren shyly smiled to him and cupped his face gently with both hands. "I am not rejecting you, but in my mind we have never..." Wren trailed away and blushed. "And all the experience I have in my memory..."

"Aye, that healer six years before you came to Dale," the King grumbled, and his nostrils flared. Wren froze, staring at him. She was going to say 'all my experience is those two kisses we have exchanged.' The Dwarf straightened, and his face grew colder. "Aldacar was it? Never had thought I that I would have to deal with him again. You would think couple fractured ribs and a broken arm would be enough to rid me of his shadow, and here we go again." Wren felt her jaw slack.

"What ribs and arm?" she gasped.

"He had showed up about eighteen years ago," the King sneered with vengeful light in his eyes. "Insulted you, by hinting that you had become my mistress for my gold. It went down ugly."

Wren pressed her hand to her forehead.

"It is just a bit… too much..." Her breathing was growing laboured. It apparently reflected on her face.

"Wren?" the King asked in a worried voice.

"I need rest," Wren choked out, and she struggled to take a breath in. "Twenty years… I lost twenty years, and Maiar know, what else happened that I do not remember… For me Alcadar is a fresh memory; for you he is some sort of an old joke!"

"He is an old joke!" the King snarled. "You never loved him, as you always claimed. He tried to keep you in his infirmary, for your gift, and your knowledge, and you ran. When he showed up and tried to convince you to return, you socked him in a jaw. End of story."

Wren made a gurgling noise and folded in half on her bed.

"Wren?" the King asked again.

"Could I please have some privacy?" Wren whispered, and the King sat in silence for a few seconds, and then muttering something in the Dwarven language - Wren doubted it was of proper nature - he jerkily climbed off the bed, and left, slamming the door behind him.

Wren remained still, taking measured breaths in, fighting an urge to vomit.

She just felt so bare and vulnerable in front of this man she knew so little about! A Dwarf, a King, and clearly quite a temperamental grump - her husband knew everything about her, and had been in her life through so much, and what an advantage and source of power over her these memories were!

* * *

 **Author's note :**

 **Please, give a chance to my independent fantasy webserial _Ani_ on my blog  rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca. You can read the story (updated every two weeks) and see my art.**

 **If you're looking for some silly modern adventure, try my story on JukePop: the name is Katya Kolmakov, and the story is _Better Than One _ (both protagonists - a grump with a black beard, and a chatty redhead) might seen familiar ;)**

 **And if you are feeling exceptionally generous, I have writer's Facebook (katyakolmakov) and I also draw (Kolmakov Pictorials Facebook page), and a blog: kolmakov dot ca.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**


	9. Two Bulls in a China Shop

**Author's note :**

 **There are two more chapters after this one, and we are done, in the land of happily ever after :D**

 **And after that, how about Agatha Christie style, 1930s mystery, with Lady Leary, a high class lady detective, and Inspector Thorington of Scotland Yard, pursuing a world famous jewellery thief known under the name The Halfling, and an immense diamond, The Gem of Seven Kingdoms, and an opium trade baron, the Crimson Dragon? ;)**

 **Please, consider supporting me on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! The name is Katya Kolmakov, and you can donate as little as $1 per months. The first chapter of _Lady Leary Mysteries_ is already there, along with other exclusive material!**

 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

As promised, in the afternoon Wren went to visit her children. She spent three hours with them, in the best of ways - chatting, laughing, and playing. It turned out that Thror inherited her proclivity towards drawing, while Dain was fond of trees and plants, which was of course very unlikely for a Dwarf. Othin taught Wren a simple game, with white and black smooth rocks on a lined board, and Wren just so happened to lose almost every time, to his complete glee. Unna showed Wren her collection of throwing knives, and they had a lovely conversation about practicality of cork-soled versus wood-soled overshoes.

After a quick meal with Gylta in Wren's study, it was time to attend to matters in the infirmary. The following four hours drained Wren beyond measure. She had always been fond of keeping busy and never shied from challenging responsibilities, but pretending that she knew what she was doing and constantly dodging questions she knew not answers to was taxing. Gylta helped as much as she could. She would jump into conversations and cut in, grabbing papers out of courtiers' hands. She would drop objects when someone addressed Wren in the Dwarven language, and then quickly translate to Wren, or answer the requests herself. It was easier with registers and herbal journals, but Wren seemed to have a lot of visitors. In the four hours Wren had learnt more about the Dwarven temperament than she had in the year she had lived in Dale.

Since she was treated not only as one of them, but with endless respect and reverence, she could not say she found the customs and ways unpleasant, but the difference was notable. Merchants were more cunning than those of Men; negotiations were more equivocal and ambiguous. Among the patients, males were more stubborns, and hid their wounds and illnesses more that Men, whom Wren had always found rather whiny. Female Dwarves were freer and louder than women in the towns of Men. They were also more possessive of their men, and more displayed of affection took place.

Altogether, after finally returning to her room and climbing into a scorching bath, once Wren had a chance to ponder her day, she had to concede that, firstly, her previous conviction of Dwarves being a stingy and bigoted race was erroneous, and secondly, that she found she was quite happy that her life had taken the turn that it had taken when she married the Dwarven King.

There was, of course, also the question of the aforementioned marriage, and what was to be done with it. Now, in the serenity of her empty bath chamber, her body relaxing in hot, aromatic water, Wren asked herself why she was resisting him with so much obstinacy. It made little sense, really.

Wren came out of the bath, and pulled on a simple home dress. She should have brushed her wet hair, but her feet hurt from running around all day, and she stretched on her back, dangling them off the edge of the bed.

And then the answer came. It was her very desire for him that stopped her. After all, it was so not in her character! She had always thought that for her personally - no judgement upon other people, Dwarves, and even Elves - lust would come with love. And here she found herself ogling a chest, and large hands, and muscular shoulders, and a strong neck, and mouth-watering, robust thighs… without knowing the person behind the enticing physique.

Wren sat up jerkily. That needed to be sorted out! She needed to talk to him! She needed to make him understand that she was confused by her own libido and needed time to grow familiar and to learn him as a person, before anything could transpire between them!

* * *

The King was having a meal in a small parlour attached to his study.

Til had accompanied Wren there and left, abandoning a jittery but decisive Wren in the passage. Wren knocked. She was invited to enter, came in, closed the door behind her without looking at the King, turned around, gathered lungfuls of air to blurt out her well prepared speech… and froze.

With some parchments scattered on the table, a fork in his hand, and piece of food behind his cheek, the King lifted his bright blue eyes at Wren, and a wave of embarrassing, suffocating arousal washed over her.

To make the things worse, he looked like he was glad to see her. She was prepared to a certain level of displeasure, or even hostility from him, considering the unfortunate turn their breakfast had taken. Instead he smiled, his cheek rounding even more. He chewed, swallowed - Wren started hyperventilating - wiped his mouth with a napkin off his lap, and greeted her.

"Evening, my heart. Would you like to join me for dinner?" His tone was friendly and even. "I am happy you decided to come to see me. I regret the morning," he spoke apologetically. "I once again behaved in the most..."

Wren did not hear the rest of it. She marched through the room and tried to kiss him. She probably should have thought it through better, since 'tried' was exactly what happened. She had bent awkwardly, pressed her mouth to his, and started toppling ahead, like a felled tree, so that he had to support her shoulders.

Wren felt mortified and winced away. the King started laughing.

"You truly have lost all your experience, have you not, my heart?" Wren had half a thought to run, and apparently it showed. His hands on her shoulders held her tighter. "Please, do not be embarrassed! It is lovely!"

"I am so confused!" Wren whined. "I came to talk, and then you were eating! And why is this even arousing?! What is wrong with me?!" By the end of her ridiculous blabbering she was as much as hollering, and the King guffawed, and pulled her on his lap. Wren made a choked squeak like noise, and twitched, but then submitted - shamefully quickly - into the warmth of his long strong arms. He was also considerate, and held her without squeezing her, with just the right amount of pressure to make her feel safe and cozy, but not restricted.

Wren was feeling increasingly close to tears, and tried to gather some reminiscence of composure. She was ridiculously fickle, and that made her so abashed!

"Wren..." he spoke softly. His eyes were right in front of her, and she did not know herself why she sniffled. "I am your husband. But I am also your friend..."

"These are not mutually exclusive," Wren mumbled, her voice nasal.

"In the best cases, no, they are not." He nodded. "I am your friend, we are allies here. It is hard for you, and I do not wish to make it more difficult." He leaned in and pressed his nose to hers. It was such a tender and domestic gesture that Wren felt tears run her cheeks. "Let us talk, my heart. Tell me what worries you..." Wren sniffled again. He smiled to her. "Besides the obvious memory loss."

"I am… I do not recognise myself. I do not understand how I could have ended up in these circumstances." Wren cringed. She did not mean to sound as if she disapproved of anything in her current life. "I do not mean anything is wrong… It just does not seem like me. I am no Queen. I am no temptress who could have lured a man. And these feelings, and sensations, they are… Foreign… I..." She felt completely lost now, and emitted a long shuddered sigh.

In Wren's opinion, the King had every right to push her off his lap and tell her she was being preposterous, and mawkish, and - to summarise it - an idiot who did not appreciate her wonderful life. But instead he pulled her in, his large hand on the back of her head, in a supportive tender gesture, and she pressed into him, pushing her nose into his silky heavy hair.

"I am not brave… I am not bold…" she muttered. "And I cannot understand why I am in no control around you… It is like you make me muddled… Like mead..." As much as Wren fought it, one small sob escaped.

He gently rocked her from side, his second hand rubbing her back, between her shoulder blades.

"You are in love with me, little one. You told me many years ago it had happened to you quickly. I always found this thought quite flattering, to be honest," he chuckled. "And you fought it last time as well."

"I am not fighting it..." Wren's voice was disgustingly adenoidal, and she momentarily worried that her nose and eyes were now red. "But I am out of my depth. I cannot resist you, but then I feel scared. I act like a changeable, coquettish dimwit. And I do not want to make you angry, or upset, and..."

"You do not," he softly interrupted her. "I am a Dwarf, Wren. We are of fire. I am not patient, and I crave my wife, but I can understand how you would feel bewildered and need time. Perhaps, I should give up my seduction efforts..."

Wren straightened up and met his eyes.

"I do not think you need any seduction efforts. I already..." Wren felt painful blush rise on her cheekbones. "I find you utterly enticing. I did not even know I would notice a man's physique, while with you..." The King hummed, the corners of his lips twitching in a smile.

"Is it the chest?" he asked nonchalantly, and Wren croaked. He barked a hearty laugh. "And here I was thinking unbuttoning my shirt had not worked."

"You did it on purpose!" Wren stared at him in disbelief.

"Of course." He smirked lopsidedly. "And had breakfast with you. You could never resist the view of me eating, you odd creature." He tapped his finger to the tip of her nose. "You should have seen yourself this morning. Trying so hard not to gawk..."

Wren hid behind her hands, and then he kissed her knuckles, tickling her skin with the whiskers of his moustache.

"Oh goodness, I feel so embarrassed right now..." she moaned, in almost physical pain now. "Was the night shirt part of your scheme too?" she asked from her shelter. "Last night..."

"That was an accident. I felt I needed to apologise. But I did notice the glances." The King's voice was shaking from laughter, and Wren groaned.

"It is not fair. I am unarmed in this battle..." Wren lowered her hands and frowned at him. "I have nothing to counterattack with!"

"Mahal help me, you do..." The King shook his head. "You have your little feet! And neck, and shoulders… And this dress hardly hides any of your curves, my Queen. And your hair is wet, which means you are just out of the bath, which means I - as a typical man - am now thinking about you in the said bath..." Wren wondered whether male voices went any lower than that. Probably, not. "Hot water… Lilac oils..."

Wren squirmed under the burning look of his clouded eyes.

"And may I remind you, my heart…" the King leaned even closer, and Wren's breath hitched. "You think you have not had a man in six years, I enjoyed my marital duties three days ago."

Wren sat staring at him like a rabbit caught in a farmer's yard, and then the door flung open, and two Dwarves came in.

" _Irak'adad_ , I think we might have lost an Iron Hills emissary, somewhere in the cellars!" one of them announced.

Wren realised two things. Firstly, that the Dwarves were surely some sort of her husband's relations, since the resemblance was uncanny. They both were much younger: one blonde, with the King's eyes and profile; another dark haired, the same colouring as the King's wavy locks. Some vague memories from the time she had arrived to Dale stirred in her mind - something about the King's nephews being attractive even for the women of Men. Wren had to most decisively affirm at the moment that she definitely preferred the Uncle to either of the nephews, but could see how girls in Dale could find themselves affected.

The second observation Wren had made was that the Dwarves were utterly inebriated. The blonde one immediately leaned on the door frame for support, the dark one hiccuped loudly and gifted Wren with a gleaming wide grin.

" _Irak'amad!_ " the dark one hollered gleefully to her. "We lost couple of emissaries, and Lord Ironfoot is going to hang us by our..."

"Beards!" the blonde one cut in, saving Wren from shock, and then loudly hiccuped as well. "By our beards. But I am certain they are fine. Just snoring somewhere behind barrels..." The sapphire blue eyes of the Dwarf were crossed - making him no less dashing, though. Wren noted four long knives clasped to his belt. She was not sure it was safe to trust him with anything sharper than a spoon at the moment.

"Uncle, you have been forgiven and allowed back!" the dark Dwarf made an exhilarated observation, and Wren remembered that she was sitting on the King's lap. The appearance of these two had almost made her forget what was transpiring. She jerked in the King's arms, but he did not release her.

"Shoosh, Kili," the other one hissed at his brother. "I am certain Uncle does not want to hear how henpecked he is. He is allowed back to his chambers, and hooray for it!" The blonde - clearly not aware that he was perfectly heard by Wren and the Dwarf under her backside - pressed his finger to his lips in a conspiratory gesture. "Come. Let us leave them alone… Maybe this time he will not have to grovel for five weeks, like that time with King Twighead..."

The blonde grabbed his brother's doublet on the shoulder and pulled him out into the passage. They fell out, shushing each other, and sniggering, and the door closed behind them with a bang.

Wren slowly turned her head and looked at the King. At the moment he mostly reminded her of the statue of him she had seen in one of the passages - jaw set, lips in a stern line, face haughty and disdainful. Somehow, Wren was certain that did not bode well for either the boys, or her.

"Um… Are these your nephews?" Wren asked in an unnaturally high voice, and the King suddenly got up, quite roughly depositing her on a chair next to him. He was still silent, muscles playing under the black beard, eyes shooting murderous lightnings. "Thorin?"

"So that is how I am perceived!" he suddenly roared, and Wren pressed her head into the shoulders in panic. "A henpecked whimp! A joke! And the worst is they are not wrong! I am allowing my own Queen play with me like a cat with a yarn ball!" A large tight fist smashed into the table, and Wren whimpered.

He looked down at her, probably saw her saucer sized eyes, and with a sharp exhale he closed his eyes, reining his temper.

"I am sorry… I am not doing it on purpose..." Wren whispered.

"No, at least not this time..." he gritted through his teeth. "But Mahal help me, you do make me work hard for your benevolence! I am constantly being trained and punished and rewarded..." He shook his head. "And I think that is about enough."

He opened his eyes and gave Wren a heavy look.

"I am not begging for a treat like a pup anymore, Wren," he snarled through his perfect white teeth. "I am your husband, and you know where to find me. You decide whether you want me or not, and when you arrive at a decision, come find me. No more kissing and running. No more changing your mind. You come to me, you bed me. Enough of this… flippancy."

And with that the King marched to the door and followed his nephews' example by leaving, slamming the door behind him. Wren continued sitting staring after him, her heart beating in her throat.

* * *

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 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	10. Works Like a Charm

**And here's the penultimate chapter, my duckies :D**

* * *

Three days later Wren was sitting in her children's room, her youngest sons playing with wooden toy Dwarven warriors in her skirts. Her firstborn was having his class in the next parlour, and Wren could hear the even droning of the old Dwarf who was his tutor. Unna was absent, apparently having left to her sword training.

"Amad," the redhaired Dain called to Wren, and she was shaken out of her melancholic thoughts. "Have you seen your garden?"

"Garden?" she asked, ruffling the soft copper locks.

"Aye, the garden that Father built for you. Just before I was born."

"And where was I?" Othin asked, lifting his eyes from his toy that he was industriously pretending was chopping off the head of a thrash embroidered on Wren's skirt. In the mind of Wren's son, the bird was to be a terrifying fire-breathing serpent, of course.

"You weren't even born then," Dain answered haughtily.

"Well, pooh! I didn't need the stinky garden anyway." The youngest Prince of Erebor huffed, but then he met his mother's eyes. "It's not stinky, amad. It's nice, I gather… For a garden." He scrunched his face, in a grimace that clearly meant 'if you're into that sort of thing.'

Wren was very much into that sort of thing. After spending another hour with her children, and having a dinner with all four of them, after Unna and Thror returned, Wren asked Til for directions, threw a shawl over her shoulders, and quickly walked through passages.

The garden was a chain of tall, arched ceiling chambers, warm and humid, due to a system of boilers and irrigation pipes. Some rooms had large windows cut in the side of the mountain, glass and shutters of intricate construction on them, and Wren froze in the doors. Everywhere she looked she could see pots and crates with plants, and even small trees grew in rows along walls. The fragrances of blossoms and herbs carried in the air, and Wren twirled on her heels, drinking in the sight.

In the third room, she turned the corner of an alley between rows of low green shrubs, and froze in her tracks.

The King was sitting on a bench, reading a book. His doublet was thrown carelessly on the seat near him, and he was unconsciously twisting a small branch of thyme in his fingers, his eyes running the lines on a page.

Wren had half a thought to turn away and run, but he felt her presence and lifted his eyes.

"Good evening," she mumbled. "I wouldn't want to bother you. I'll go..."

"Wren, wait please." She awkwardly shifted between her feet. "It is your garden. I'm the one imposing." He rose, put the twig between the pages, and closed the book. "I should go..."

"What are you doing here?" Wren blurted out, and blushed. The answer was of course that he was reading, but she just couldn't help but ask. "I assume, a Dwarf wouldn't care for a garden." Her mumbling was hardly audible. He gave her a small sad smile.

"Just as any other Dwarf, I don't. But you do. It is your favourite spot. And I used to come visit you here. I regret now I didn't come more often..." he trailed away, and shook his head. "I'm not saying it right, as is my habit of course."

"You miss her… me..." Wren whispered, and he nodded.

Wren leaned on a column near her, and sighed.

"We're doing it wrong… It is hard for both of us, but we certainly could do better..." she started, but then halted, bashful.

"That much is clear," the King grumbled, and flopped back on the bench. His face was irked, and Wren chewed at the bottom lip.

"I was thinking last night… about what you told me of our past..." Wren wriggled her fingers. "When we met, you said it was in the Dale infirmary, aye?"

"Aye, I was wounded, you bandaged my shoulder."

"And then it took us seven moons to come together, right?" Wren was prodding carefully.

"If you suggest we wait seven moons to become man and wife again..." he said, and Wren interrupted, being a blatherer that she was.

"Is it all you care about?" she hissed at him, and his eyes flew up at her.

"I did not mean in the bedroom, Wren." His tone was haughty. "I am no animal. I need our talks, and your counsel, and..." He jerked his chin.

"I'm sorry. It is just that I feel… pressured. And no man has a right to demand intimacy. It is to be given in free will."

"I wasn't pressuring you!" Sincere surprise coloured his face. Wren wondered if a good smack to the head could jog his memory, instead of hers.

"Three days ago you said I shouldn't come to you unless I was ready to… bed you!"

He opened his mouth, and then stopped, his lips parted. Wren waited.

"I did, didn't I?" He shook his head again, and rubbed his forehead with his large hand.

"When we met, what did you think of me?" Wren asked carefully, proceeding with the idea she had had the day before. "Did you feel any fancy towards me at all?"

"Of course I did." He gave her a gloom look, clearly still pondering his previous behaviour.

"I imagine you felt a tinge of interest," Wren assumed. "And now think back and think of yourself three days after you met me. What did you feel? A bit of curiosity, perhaps?"

The King emitted a small chuckle.

"You could call it such."

"How would you call it then?" Wren continued to inquire.

"I don't know, do you want me to say? I thought you… fascinating. And beautiful. You were stubborn, and I liked your manner." His eyes grew distant. "You came every day to treat my warriors, we talked… You had a fresh air to you..."

"But did you think you would marry me?" Wren asked, and he focused his remarkable blue eyes on her.

"No, I did not," he finally answered firmly. "I did not know what I felt, but marriage was not on my mind then." Wren nodded, since he only confirmed what she thought.

"And did you… desire me?" she asked, feeling her cheeks colour immediately.

"I did. I am a man, Wren. Our thoughts stray to a woman's body right away. Yours I found quite easy to cause such ideas." His voice dropped, in a velvet baritone, but Wren didn't let him distract her from her line of inquiries. It took a significant effort, but she didn't.

"And the last question then..." He chuckled, apparently entertained by her business like tone. "Do I gather it right, from what I've learnt about Dwarven culture, that you had little experience in carnal matters before that night with me?" Her cheeks by then were hot enough to fry morning potatoes on.

"You could say that," the King answered vaguely, but Wren wasn't sure she was prepared for a direct answer anyway.

"So, you were enticed, uncertain what you felt, but full of desire, but could hardly imagine being married to me? Does that summarise it well?" Wren asked, and a pause hung in the garden.

The King watched her for a few instants, and then he lowered his face. Wren felt not much else needed to be said.

"And you do pressure me. You've as much as presented me with an ultimatum. Is it what it's like in Dwarven culture, just like Men treat it? Is a wife's body a man's property?" Wren asked, and his eyes flew to her face, widened and emotional.

"No, Wren! I am… I was… You kissed me, but then you would run! It's as if you're playing cat and mouse with me!" By the end of his speech he was starting to sound irked again.

"Do I have no right to change my mind?"

"You do! It's just..."

"I have had six days with you, Thorin," Wren reminded him firmly. "You claim to know me so well. Am I a woman to jump at conclusions and let myself be seduced in less of a week of knowing a man?"

"But..."

"But what? Do you think since it is you, the King Under the Mountain, a renown warrior Thorin Oakenshield, I'll fall into your arms at the first call? I do have dignity, and I do not give myself away easily."

The King opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, and finally settled on brooding silence. Wren shuffled one foot on the ground, kicking a yellow leaf that fell off the nearest cherry tree.

"You have to understand me as well, Wren," he spoke in a low voice. "You agree on my offer to seduce you. You flirt with me. You kiss me. You allow me liberties, and then you push me away."

"I have the right to change my mind," she repeated. She looked at him, and saw his lips twist in a grimace.

"You do. But do you have the right to torture me?"

"Torture?!" Wren squeaked, and he threw her a glum look. She didn't quite see it this way to be honest. But what did she know about carnal matters? Clearly, less than him, that's for sure.

"Wren, I apologise for my behaviour in my study. It was..."

"Brutish?" Wren suggested an adjective. He shifted his eyes at a pot with parsley behind her.

"Uncalled for. It was uncalled for." Wren continued to give him a sardonic look, until he finally met her eyes and squirmed on the bench under her meaningful glare. "I apologise, but..."

"There is a 'but?'" Wren asked sarcastically, and he emitted a long - indeed tortured - sigh.

"What I said then..."

"Was disrespectful and unnecessarily loud..." Wren muttered under her breath, making sure he could hear her.

"Had a grain of truth to it," the King finished in an even tone. Wren tilted her head. "Wren, we are all bedraggled by what had transpired. And… With the emotions running high… I have trouble controlling my desires. So, I will ask you not to titillate me."

"Pardon?" Wren asked in confusion.

"Could you… not kiss me?" he asked, cringing from embarrassment, and Wren felt her jaw slack. "We can talk, and have meals together, but…"

"Are you asking me not to tempt you?"

"You tempt me no matter what, but it will certainly be easier to restrain myself if you're not parading by me in see through dresses."

Wren gulped and nodded.

"And please do let me know right away when you decide it is finally time to parade in a see through dress by me," he said, lifting one eyebrow with meaning, and Wren giggled.

"You will be the first to know, my lord." They smiled to each other, and he rose.

"I shall see you at breakfast tomorrow then? Fully dressed and in the presence of our children." Wren giggled again from the cheeky amendment he added to his proposition. "I think we should resume taking our meals together."

Wren happily agreed.

* * *

Wren lasted a fortnight of being a mother - successfully and happily; a Queen - not so successfully, but still with a sense of pride and reward; but not a wife - and desperately missing the Dwarf she had known for three weeks, who currently was a perfect friend to her in every possible way - but nothing more.

And on a night of a Tuesday, Wren decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for herself, and it was time to start... parading.

She sent a courtier inviting the King to join her for dinner in the parlour adjoin to their - currently only hers - bedchamber. Wren decided to take pages from his book and sent Til to talk to the cook. The King's favourite dishes were to be prepared, and then it was time to choose the dress - and the undergarments for that matter. Until now, Wren had been mostly wearing attires from a small wardrobe in her bedchambers, where according to Til, 'infirmary dresses' were hung. Those were one layer, one colour ones, which the old Wren apparently wore when running errands.

While Til ran to the kitchen, Wren scouted through the wardrobe room. She found what she was looking for in a large trunk by the wall. Undertunics, brasseries, bloomers, petticoats, and stockings - Wren had never in her life seen that much lace, and of such luxurious quality. Apparently, despite her modest attires, the old Wren did pay attention to what she was dressed in - simply, it was only the inner layers, and the audience to appreciate her fashion sense was limited to one person. Wren's cheeks burnt from the view of the more indecent pieces - of which there were the majority. Some of the garments were so intricate and delicate that she did not dare taking them out. Wren chose 'something for the bottom' and 'something for the top,' and fled, flustered and confused. Both items were of gentle pink. Wren was not fond of colour, but she assumed they would be most alluring. She had forgone stockings remembering that the King mentioned being particularly drawn to her feet. She did not understand, but decided it would be wise to use this to her advantage.

After a bath, Wren subjected herself to Til's torturous efforts. She decided that if she was planning to entice her royal Dwarven husband, it was time to look the part. Mawkishly sighing and wiping - this time happy - tears, Til brought a dress from the wardrobe, carrying it in her hands like a newborn infant, with the appropriately adoring face. It was of deep red colour, and richly embroidered bodice. The lace of buttermilk white peeked in the low cut, and the skirts were opulent and heavy. Til's eyebrows jumped up at the view of the undergarment Wren had chosen, but the maid said nothing of course. Wren's hair was arranged in a complicated do, a few meticulously curled locks falling on her neck and collarbones, and then Til brought the jewellery. A set of a necklace, a bracelet, and long earrings of garnet and diamond shone and twinkled, and Wren felt like the Winter Solstice decorated tree.

Til and her accomplice Gylta had gone out of their way, and the room looked as favouring romance as possible: there were candles, the fireplace burnt cozily, and Wren could not remember that low settee by the wall to be here previously. Were the girls hinting that the King and Wren were expected to move onto it after cheese and nuts? At the thought of the eventual goal of this dinner - it was, of course, Wren's decision to 'come and bed,' using the King's words - Wren felt terrified, and everything shook inside.

She didn't doubt her decision. She just couldn't think of the mechanics of its fulfillment. Her only memories of her previous association with a male in a horizontal position were somewhat vague. Aldacar was a cold man, she was inexperienced, and no diversity and no passion could be found in their intimacy. Wren was no idiot. She knew that wouldn't be the case at the end of this night.

* * *

Wren stood by the table, wriggling her fingers, when the knock came to the door. Til made a choked sound, and rushed out of the room through the other door leading to the bed chamber. Wren imagined the Dwarven maiden to flee through the rooms, her skirts flailing, braids thrashing behind her, to the far end of the halls, leading to the servants room. Wren would have pondered how it happened that Til was even hired, but at the moment she had much more pressing matters to attend.

With her knees shaking, and her teeth as much as chattering, she squeaked, allowing the visitor in.

The door opened, and the King came in. Wren sucked a sharp breath in. Somehow, every day she would be struck by how imposing and dashing he was. She would be lulled into the sensation of warmth and comfort when spending an evening with him - in an interesting conversation, laced with his dry wit and natural charm; and then the next day she would be flustered and anxious when seeing him again.

And then she felt a pang of worry. He didn't look like a man who came potentially hoping to finally reap the fruit of his seduction scheme, or as a passionate lover in anticipation of dynamic - and potentially, acrobatic - night of concupiscence with the woman he had expressed desire towards multiple times.

The King had a polite, considerate, and somewhat absent minded smile on his lips.

"Evening, my heart. You look magnificent." His eyes ran the tight bodice, and the - endlessly uncomfortable for Wren - amount of her skin visible in the cleavage, probably heaving, since Wren was as nervous as they come.

Wren had no voice, she could only nod, and they took their seats at the table. Wren was relieved, to be honest. Firstly, she was feeling so uneasy that her legs felt liquid. And secondly, her shoes were as much as killing her. The edges of heavily embroidered sides - of golden brocade just like the underskirts and the sleeves of her dress - were cutting into her skin, unprotected by a stocking, and the nose was too narrow even for Wren's ridiculously small feet, so that her toes were assaulting each other.

And a doubt started creeping into her mind. The King was buttoned up, in a simple doublet, and his face had a calm and cordial expression. Wren had a sarcastic thought that the settee might stay unused this night.

The plates were filled with the first course, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. The King went back to decorous chewing, and Wren peeked at him. Everything seemed to be going wrong! Among other things, the cursed pink lace under her dress was making her squirm and twitch! It rubbed her skin in all the wrong places, and maybe that was why it was put in a separate compartment of the trunk: not as a piece for special occasion, but an unfortunate purchase of inadequate quality.

She was also hot in the ridiculous dress, while she just could not forget that the tops of her breasts were on display. Her head was starting to ache from the weight of her hair - braided, twisted, and pinned - and those locks that were supposed to enticingly make her neck look longer and brush at her skin seductively? They were making her eye twitch, because they reminded her of the sensation of a mosquito buzzing around, craving her blood!

Wren took a deep, calming breath in. She was a woman of conviction, she reminded herself. She had decided they were to become intimate again, and after all the inconvenience she went through she was not giving up! Besides, she would never have enough courage to go through this again.

She licked her lips and threw him a - hopefully - coy look.

"How is your dinner, my lord?" she feigned nonchalance.

"Excellent as ever," he answered. "You have chosen our staff perfectly, my heart."

Wren searched her mind. What were the usual tools of seductive talk, she tried to remember. Throwing hints? Making innuendos? Hiding sensual metaphors behind innocent sounding discussions of flavour and texture?

"How is the…?" Wren searched for a word. Prey? Catch? Meat? Panic was rising. "The stew?"

"Exceptional, as usual." The King picked up his goblet and sipped. "How are you feeling today? How is your head?"

This medical, considerate tone wasn't at all favouring Wren's clumsy attempts in turning this evening towards something romantic. Perhaps, she could try harder.

"I do not sleep well. The bed feels too large..." Wren was ready to thump her forehead. Could she sound more like a stumbling dimwit?

"I am sorry to hear it," the King answered, clearly oblivious to any sort of double meaning Wren was clumsily trying to hide under her words. "It is because in your mind you are used to your inn room in Dale. Have you considered to ask for additional covers?"

Wren chewed on her lip. She truly wanted to turn this conversation around, but she could not possibly tell him she required 'additional people' in the bed, could she? She was not bold enough for it, and honestly, it would just come out daft.

"I do feel much more comfortable in my other obligations, though..." she drew out. "I seem to find my footing as the Queen, as a mother, and in the infirmary, and I think I am ready to fully embrace my new life now." Wren would like to finally be over with this torturous evening and embrace something - someone, to be precise; but of course, her pointing tone went over that very someone's head.

"That is wonderful news," the King nodded. "You have always shown admirable acumen and resilience, my heart. I am sure many would still be struggling, and falling apart." The King added some more food onto his plate.

Wren decided to up the stakes. If he didn't understand words - she did admit she couldn't be any vaguer, but she just couldn't manage anything more direct - maybe actions would help. Wren carefully pulled her right foot out of the shoe - what a relief it was! - and lifted it to sensually brush it along the King's calf.

That went just as successfully as everything else this evening. It took four waves in the air to find the cursed royal leg, and because she was losing patience, instead of a seductive brush, her effort ended in a sensitive kick. The King's paused his eating and looked up at her questioningly.

"Pardon," Wren croaked.

"It is quite alright. You probably don't remember that you hate these shoes. You only wore them once, and I had to carry you from the feast hall after that." That was a promising turn of conversation, Wren thought. It had potential for the discussion to focus on to where he carried her. "You had bleeding blisters for days afterwards, and were in the foulest of moods. My little grump." He laughed, giving her a loving look.

Wren was ready to drop her head on the table with a loud thud. Bloody blisters were surely the last thing that she could build any sort of innuendo on!

"How is the infirmary? Two days ago you mentioned there was an outburst of stomach fever among the Royal Halls staff. Do they still suffer from cacogastric upset?"

Wren couldn't hold back a groan. He just had to bring up vomiting and diarrhea that were tormenting the patients in her infirmary!

"Shall we talk about something else?" she asked in an unnaturally cheery voice. "Perhaps, you could tell me something of our past? Perhaps, that time when we had been stranded in a cave that you mentioned last time we had dinner?"

The King's eyebrows jumped up, and Wren gave him a meaningful look. Since his eyes were finally focused on her, she decided to use all means available for her.

Wren quickly thought back on the tricks her friend Thea used to utilise, and she ran the tips of her fingers along the gems in her necklace. The King's gaze predictably followed her movement. Wren let the fingers dance to the middle, and then down, along the central tear shaped piece, between her breasts.

The King suddenly guffawed. Wren froze, staring at him in astonishment. Meeting her widened eyes, the King barked another laugh, and then another, and soon he was roaring with laughter, his large hand clapping to his knee.

Wren jerked her hand back from her cleavage.

"Mahal help me..." the King rasped out, and wiped tears from his eyes. "I am sorry, my heart, I know you were not trying to entertain me, but it just looked so… ridiculous..."

Wren made a choked noise. It felt as if he had just punched her into her vulnerable stomach. Her lips quivered, and she jolted and threw a panicked look around the room, trying to see which exit was the nearest.

The King was near her in an instant, on the knees near her chair.

"Oh Wren! Mahal help me, I am sorry! Forgive me! I didn't mean to insult you!" His face was worried and remorseful. Clearly, he had gathered how she felt about his words. It was too late, though. A strained sob fell from her lips, and tears ran. "Mahal, forgive me, my love. I was insensitive!"

He tried to pick up her hands, but Wren jerked them back.

"Wren, I am sorry!" the King raised his voice. "It is just you have always made fun of women who threw these seductive looks, and you told me of your friend Thea, and about that very trick with stroking a necklace to make a man look at the breasts, and..."

"I am trying!" Wren yelled into his face, losing her composure. "I am dying here, in this horrible dress, and the shoes, and all of this for you, and you mock me!" She tried to climb from around the table, but he was on her way, kneeling, and she tangled in her skirts, and fell back on her chair. Sobs were growing louder and more uncontrollable. She angrily wiped off her tears with the back of her hand.

"Wren, I didn't understand what you were doing till the last moment," the King spoke mollifyingly. "I admit my reaction was rude, but you just weren't yourself, and this attire..." He glanced at her dress. "And I do understand now, that you were trying to touch me, but before it felt like you kicked me… And altogether… This dinner is so not you..."

"How am I supposed to know it?" Wren hissed at him. "Don't you understand how much it took out of me to wear this dress, and play temptress?! How scared and embarrassed I am?! I can't even imagine how it would be, there in the bed, and I'm scared witless of your body! And I did it all for you! And you call me ridiculous!"

And pressing her hands into his shoulders, Wren pushed him away, opening an exit for herself, and picking up the cursed skirts, she rushed by him and into the bedroom.

She fell on the bed, crying desperately, praying to Maiar he didn't follow her to make this evening even more humiliating - as if it were possible. Thankfully, he didn't, and Wren cried and cried.

An hour later, weak and with a sore throat, she pulled her clothes off and climbed under the covers. She hugged a pillow tightly, and fell into dark, deep slumber.

* * *

 **To be continued (and concluded)... ;)**


	11. All Is Well That Ends Well

**And here's the last chapter!**

 **If you enjoyed this silliness, I invite you to my newly opened AO3 account (same nick: kkolmakov) for Faun!Thorin and Pixie!Wren for romance, humour, and adventure!**

 **Love,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The next morning Wren opened her bleary eyes and groaned. Sunlight was streaming into her window, with curtains she had forgotten to draw. Her head was splitting with excruciating ache. It seemed rather late. Til, of course, had not woken her up, it had been arranged the day before that she was not to show up this morning, in case Wren was to wake in the King's company. The memories of the previous evening rushed back into Wren's mind, and she fell back into the pillows. Humiliation and hurt flooded her, and she bit into her bottom lip not to start crying again.

It was time to get up and start her day, but Wren was feeling apathetic and lay in bed, twirling a tussle from the cover in her fingers. She was feeling strangely numb. A knock came to her room, and even that didn't stir her out of her state.

It was Til, with a tray of food. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"Your breakfast..." the maid muttered in shaking voice. "My lady..."

"Are you alright, Til?" Wren asked in worry, forgetting her own brooding for a moment.

"Aye, my lady. It is nothing." The maid sobbed but then tried to smile. It looked endlessly disturbing.

The door opened again, and Gylta came in.

"Morning, my Queen." The apprentice sounded mournful as well. Til placed the tray, wailed a deep bellow, and ran out of the room. Wren followed her with a confused look.

"You have to forgive her, my lady." Gylta shook her head. "She took our failure a bit too close to the heart."

"Our failure?" Wren asked, stretching her hand for her cup.

"To entice the King last night. Poor girl." Gylta tsk tsked. Wren's hand froze mid-air. "She expected an easy victory. But you and I know, my Queen, one has to fall to get up and fight again." Gylta lifted a tightly fisted hand in front of her face, bearing a fierce expression. Wren's jaw dropped.

"Um… you two are taking it seriously, aren't you?" Wren muttered.

"It is our disgrace, my Queen. We are here to assist you, and we failed you. Poor Til has been bawling all morning, since the King's servant brought his letter for you." The girl shook her head in shame.

"What letter?" Wren asked, and the apprentice pointed at a parchment - rolled and tied with a red silk ribbon - between the sugar bowl and a milk jug on Wren's tray.

"It's from the King. So we gathered he didn't spend the night." Gylta sighed deeply. "We should have gone with a picnic. The two of you used to go to many picnics."

Wren blinked several times, clearing her mind.

"Alright, Gylta. Firstly, do not blame yourself." Wren searched for the right words. She didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings, but since when were her most personal matters of anyone's concern but hers?! "You have told me everything you knew, the rest was my responsibility." Gylta gave her a slightly confused look, and Wren raised one eyebrow, hoping that the meaning behind her words was clear.

"We were trying to help..." Gylta started.

"And you did. The rest was between the King and me."

Gylta blushed, understanding dawning on her, and she nodded. Wren considered the question closed.

"And secondly, Gylta, how did it happen that Til has been hired as my maid?" Wren asked cautiously, and the apprentice sniggered.

"She burst into tears during the interview. You felt pity for her."

"I gathered that much." Wren sighed. "That does sound like me. Well, Gylta, thank you. And I will dress myself, no need to drag poor Til from wherever she is hiding. Come back with my papers to the study in half an hour, please."

The apprentice placed the papers and letters she brought for Wren on the edge of the bed, curtsied, and left.

* * *

Wren decided that she definitely required sustenance before she was ready to open the letter, so she poured herself some tea and forced herself to eat at least one sandwich. She felt no taste, and the bread - as soft and fresh as it was - scratched her throat and travelled down with difficulty. Wren felt almost irritated with her mawkish self. It was probably a short apologetic note. Nothing to be flustered over.

She finished the tea, and with a deep purposeful exhale she picked up the roll, pulled at the silk end, and started reading.

" _For the hands I've always loved._

 _I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask."_

Wren stared at the words in confusion. Indeed, some Kings here had no excuse for the previous behaviour. Wren could have, of course, come up with some - she seemed to do that easily - but it was nice to see that unlike during the conversation in her garden, this time the King didn't try to put a part of blame for their misunderstanding on her. The first half of the note remained a mystery, though.

But only for half an hour, until a knock came to her door. Gylta who was back by then opened the door. A courtier came in, with a large crate in his hands that he lowered on the floor in Wren's study, and then he gave them a decorous bow and left.

The crate contained brushes, paints, multitude of bottles on ink, and assortment of papers and parchments. Gylta hummed in confusion, Wren felt like she had just entered a cave with a treasure hoard in it.

The rest of the day was passed in drawing that Wren always loved and never had time or silver to indulge in.

* * *

The next day, three courtiers arrived with boxes of new plants for her garden and a note.

" _For your gift that I admire so much._

 _I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask."_

Wren spent the day with her sons Dain - who was helping gleefully - and Othin - who was digging a battlement hill under a cherry tree - in the garden.

* * *

The long narrow parcel with the note - _"For your beautiful eyes and your precise hand that I almost fear. I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask" -_ contained a bow and a quiver of arrows, of the best Gondor craftsmanship, and Wren and Unna spent hours in the training yard. The girl was too short and preferred the thicker, sturdier Dwarven bow, but they still had plenty of fun practicing.

* * *

Through the ten days after Wren's unfortunate attempt in seduction, Wren didn't see the King. He wasn't present at the meals, and seemed to stop frequenting Wren's garden. It didn't feel as if he were avoiding her, though. The continuing thoughtful but not extravagant gifts, and touching notes were a clear indication that he was just giving her space, while courting her in the most romantic way.

And then one morning Wren woke up, opened her eyes, and realised that she was feeling very much in love; and it was most definitely time to let her husband know of it, and perhaps affirm in through some actions.

She was cheerfully consuming her breakfast, devising a plan for the day - which would hopefully turn into a pleasant plan for the night - when the new gift from the King arrived.

It was a simple ribbon, of green linen, and in astonishment Wren realised it was hers. Or, more precisely, it had been hers twenty years ago, when she served in the Dale infirmary.

The note this time was longer, and Wren sat, grasping the ribbon in her hand, reading the first love letter she had ever received in her life - or, at least, could recall to have received.

" _My dearest Wren,_

 _When we met, you bluntly and loudly told me off for being reckless and travelling wounded, while bandaging my injured shoulder. No one had ever scolded me in such manner, and I never stopped thinking about you since that day. Perhaps, I need to be rebuked by you, to remember where I stand and what is of importance in my life._

 _I apologise, my heart, in Mahal knows which time since I almost lost you, and I have only one excuse for my outrageous behaviour. The person who had always kept me true to myself and had always reminded me of the man I want to be is the person I am wounding these days by my rash words and blundering behaviour._

 _My darling, I am lost without you. You are the person I go to for guidance, for help, for support, and who am I to ask to save me when it is winning you over that I need aid with?_

 _I fell desperately in love with you, that day, when you called me 'a cantankerous Dwarf,' muttering under your breath, frowning, while your hands touched me for the first time. You bandaged me, and scolded me, and I already knew no one would ever take the spot in my heart that belonged to you - only you, and forever._

 _I could never find the right words and the right actions to show you how much I cared for you, how much I needed you. It has always been you who understood, and took mercy of the tongue-tied Dwarf, and made the first step. That night you led me to your room, you simply did what I had dreamt of for moons, but dared not to ever hope for._

 _You have always been the one to put my feelings in words, to see into my heart, to give me what I craved but could not express. You forgave my rash words because you knew I meant no insult. You consoled me when I ached or suffered from fear, but had no courage to share my pain. You are the one who can pacify my temper. You are the one who knows me without asking, and loves without condition. You are the one who has always been kinder to me than I deserved._

 _And if I could, it would be you I would go to now - again, and just as always._

 _I do not know what to say and what to do, and I have only one way I know to solve my predicament. I will ask you for help. I will direct you to the only person who could convince you to be my wife again - you yourself._

 _Do not listen to me; listen to yourself, my beloved._

 _You are the woman who married me. You are the woman who gave me the most treasured gift - our children. You loved me, tolerated me, and forgave me for more years that I deserved, and does it not tell you that the woman you were and are today is the woman who would always choose me?_

 _Come back to me, my heart. No Dwarf can leave without his heart._

 _I will wait patiently as long as you need me to, but remember I am always here for you._

 _Ever yours,_

 _Thorin, son of Thrain"_

* * *

Clutching the letter in her hand, Wren ran through the passages of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, her bare feet making soft noises on the stone floor.

She jerked the door of his study open, without a knock, and there he was standing by his window, arms crossed on his chest, his pensive gaze fixed on the peaks of the Misty Mountains - and she rushed ahead. He opened his arms and caught her, and she embraced him, rising on her tiptoes, seeking his lips. The letter fell out of her hand with a quiet rustle, but Wren didn't hear.

"I am here..." she whispered between kisses. "I came back to you."

His hot hand cupped the back of her head, tangling into her hair, and he pressed her into him, lifting her off the floor. Wren's arms were tightly wrapped around his neck, and she wasn't afraid whether her actions were clumsy, and even when her teeth scraped at his - because despite the truth, in her mind this had been her fourth kiss in six years, and she hardly knew what she was doing - she only laughed, and he joined her, with a warm rumble in his chest, and she cupped his face, and leaned into another kiss.

And then he moved away, still holding her in his arms, and looked at her, and she saw love, and desire in his eyes, and her cheeks flushed.

"Wren..."

"Yes." She pressed her forehead to his.

"Could we..?" he started, and she smiled wildly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I am meaning to ask..." he started again, and she quickly kissed his lips, interrupting him.

"Yes, Thorin, yes. It is me answering your question. Yes!" He guffawed, and she grinned to him, feeling no doubt or nervousness at all.

"Shall we then?" He released her and stretched the hand to her.

"Lead the way, my King," Wren laughed. "It is your turn after all."

"Insolent woman," he rumbled, his eyes twinkling, and then he stepped to her quickly, whisking her into his arms, making her emit a happy squeal.

He marched to their bedchambers, and Wren laughed through the whole trip, occasionally kissing his ear and cheek closest to her, and marvelling at how easy and exciting everything felt, and then they were inside, and he back kicked the door closed behind him.

* * *

 _Six moons later…_

Wren opened her eyes. The room around her seemed unfamiliar - dark and warm. There was a heavy canopy over the bed she lay in. The next thing that came to her attention was a large male sleeping in the bed near her, making soft noises - not quite a snore, but some sort of cozy sniffling. Wren stared at him, and then she realised that her hands, which she habitually pressed to her middle as she always did when emotional, were resting on a firm roundness of a pregnant stomach.

"Maiar help me, I'm with child!" Wren yelled, and jerked the covers off herself to see better.

The man near her stirred in his sleep, and then his eyes slowly opened. Wren gawked at him.

"I am with child! What?!.. How?.." she hollered, and he sat up sharply. He studied her, and his eyes widened.

"Wren..." His face grew pale. "Mahal help me, not again! Wren, do you remember where you are? Who am I, Wren?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"What do you mean who you are?! Thorin, I'm pregnant!" She pointed at her stomach, but then when he opened his mouth - no doubt to start roaring - she pressed her hand over his lips. "Wait, wait… It's all coming back!" He mumbled something under her hand, and she loudly shushed him. "No! No talking! I'm thinking! Oh… the pigs on the Dale bridge!" The Dwarf made a pained sound somewhere down in his throat, but Wren didn't release him, shushing him again. "No! Quiet! Alright… So, the cart with pigs… And then there was the hammer from the scaffolding… And then six moons, and I didn't remember anything… You called my flirting ridiculous!" she cried out, and he made another muffled noise, but she ignored him. "Yes, I remember now… All of it… Oh Mahal, I'm pregnant!" Wren let her husband go and pressed her palms onto her stomach. "I'm forty five and pregnant!"

"You talked to midwives, you both are healthy," the Dwarf reassured her, and then his hands were on her upper arms. "Wren, do you truly remember everything?"

"Yes, I do! All twenty years, and the past six months, and..." And then she paused, looked at him, and punched his naked shoulder. "You called my flirting ridiculous!"

He guffawed and pulled her to his lips. She feigned some resistance, and then melted into the kiss. He then turned them both, toppling into the sheets, pulling her after him.

"Welcome back, my heart," he murmured into her lips, and she smiled to him widely.

"I will always come back to you, my cantankerous Dwarf."

THE END

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **1\. Facebook Writer's Page: katyakolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **2. AO3 as kkolmakov**

{for FanFiction that is more my independent writing but with elements of ThorinxWren ship in it}

 **3.** **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **4\. My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **5\. JukePop:** **Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_**

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _also_

 ** _Better Than One_**

a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

 _Summary:_ A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists.

Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

 **6. Other media:**

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

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 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


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